


The Autumn Of Our Years

by Suzie_Shooter



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Falling In Love, Family, Growing Old Together, Heart Attacks, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marriage, Old Age, Older Characters, Past Suicidal Thoughts, Retirement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 17:16:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5594464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Retirement home AU - it's Porthos' first day in his new surroundings, and while his initial attempts at striking up a friendship go awry, it might be that something lasting will come out of what seems like disaster.</p><p>(I was writing a completely different fic about retired musketeers and somehow this took over - modern day musketeers in a retirement home. If anyone remembers Waiting For God, it's basically an AU of that, with Athos and Porthos instead of Diana and Tom).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Porthos walked into the dining room behind the pretty young nurse-administrator who'd introduced herself as Constance, and hoped he didn't look as nervous as he felt. It was ridiculous he told himself, a man of his age who'd worked all over the world, feeling intimidated by a group of elderly men and women. They were almost certainly entirely harmless, but coming here had felt too much like a surrender and he was currently feeling old and useless and vulnerable. 

Everyone looked up as he entered, and he tilted his chin up defiantly in the face of so many curious stares, feeling like he'd walked into a hostile saloon. Most of the lunch crowd were grouped around tables of six, and he was ushered over to a spare seat with a brisk but friendly hand. As Porthos sat, his attention was drawn by a man dining alone, not just because of his solitary state, but because he was the only person in the room who hadn't looked up and gawped at him.

"Constance! Ravishing as ever. Have you brought us a new inmate?" The man beside Porthos, sporting a neat beard and hair far too dark to be natural at his age gave the nurse a broad wink.

Constance snorted. "I can see I'm going to have to up the dose of bromide in your tea again. This is Porthos, he joins us today. And I've told you to stop calling them inmates."

The man grinned at Porthos and extended an elegant hand. "Hello. I'm Aramis. Don't worry there's a tunnel in progress, report to the library for digging duty, nineteen hundred hours. Don't tell Commandant Bonacieux."

Constance snorted and moved off, only pausing for a moment to exchange a word with the man sitting alone before leaving the room. Porthos felt suddenly friendless.

"Don't worry, I'm not actually bonkers," murmured the man - Aramis, was it? - sitting next to him. "It just passes the time."

"Till we all drop dead you mean?" Porthos asked gloomily.

"Oh, you're a cheerful one."

"Sorry." Porthos made an effort to smile. "Just - first day, you know? All feels a bit daunting."

"Well you'll find we're all friendly enough. And the staff are delightful," Aramis added, raising his voice for the benefit of another young woman walking past. 

"I'll be sure to pass on your compliments to my husband," she called over without missing a beat, and Aramis sighed a little wistfully. 

"If I was ten years younger..."

"She'd still be too young for you, and she'd still be married," Porthos interjected, and Aramis laughed. 

"Perhaps." 

Lunch progressed in a reasonably agreeable fashion, and Porthos was relieved to find people were willing to talk, without being too nosy.

As the plates were being cleared away and coffee served, the solitary diner got up to leave without so much as a glance at the rest of his fellow residents. 

"What's the deal with him?" Porthos murmured with a discreet tilt of his head.

"Athos? Oh he always eats on his own. Says the rest of us give him indigestion," Aramis declared. "Miserable bugger, but he's alright when you get to know him. Don't let him intimidate you."

Porthos wanted to retort that he'd worked in warzones and it would take more to intimidate him than that, but held his peace. He lingered over his coffee as long as he could, but eventually the cups were cleared away and the remaining diners all dispersed to whatever activities they had in mind for the afternoon.

Feeling very alone, Porthos made his way back to his bungalow - or at least he tried to, but the connecting corridors all looked the same, and he was soon hopelessly disorientated. 

The retirement home was based around an old manor house, which contained the communal and administration areas. Spidering out from this via a series of covered walkways were what was described in the brochure as bungalows, but was really more a series of conjoined apartments. 

Having walked down several of these to no avail, Porthos was starting to feel he was in a nightmare. Everywhere looked the same, and despite the floor to ceiling glass in the link corridors he was feeling claustrophobic and short of breath.

Hurrying round a corner back into the main part of the building, he walked slap bang into someone coming the other way. 

"God, sorry, are you alright?" Porthos apologised hastily. He might be getting on in years, but he was a solid fellow and not small, and the man coming the other way had rebounded off him with almost comic effect. Porthos recognised him now as the man from the dining room. The miserable bugger, according to Aramis. Athos, had he said? 

Porthos' heart sank; he didn't want to get off on the wrong foot with anyone he was going to have to live in close proximity with for the rest of his years. To his relief, the man didn't look particularly cross.

"That's alright, I should have been looking where I was going," Athos said generously. He looked Porthos up and down and raised an eyebrow. "Where are you off to in such a hurry? Not much cause for speed round here."

"Trying to find my bungalow," Porthos said sheepishly. "I'm lost. I was starting to think I was stuck in a maze."

"The perils of bland modern architecture. Which one's yours?"

Porthos stared at him in increasing misery, realising the anxiety of the last few minutes had driven the new address right out of his mind. "Five? I think? Something to do with a bird?" 

Athos gave a dry laugh. "It's all birds here. Chaffinch Court, Songbird Walk, Blackbird Court and Wren Walk, clockwise from the north. I'm Blackbird Six, which now I say it out loud sounds distressingly like a sixties cop show."

Porthos laughed, calmer now and grateful to the man for taking the time to talk to him. If he'd been brusque, Porthos had the horrible feeling it would have been the last straw between him and some kind of embarrassing breakdown.

"I'm Wren, then," he said. "I think."

"You want to go straight through reception, down the passage past the lounge and out the other side," explained Athos. "You're on the wrong side of the house." Porthos looked confused and Athos took pity on him. "Come on, I'll show you. If you want?"

"Would you mind? I don't want to be a bother."

"Be as much of a bother as possible, I say," Athos declared. "No point in just fading away apologetically. People like to forget we still exist, tucked away out here."

"It does feel a bit like it," Porthos agreed dolefully. "I wasn't sure I wanted to come, but I didn't really have a choice."

"Kids dumped you?" Athos asked sympathetically.

"No. No, I don't have any. Lost my wife a while ago. Got a nephew and a niece, but they didn't really - they could hardly be expected to take me in..."

"Couldn't be arsed you mean," Athos interrupted. "You're better off not relying on other people anyway. At least here you still have a degree of autonomy."

"I hadn't thought of it like that," Porthos mused. "Tell you the truth it felt a bit like being sent away because nobody wanted me any more."

"Fuck the lot of them," Athos remarked absently, leading Porthos down a complicated series of corridors that he thought ruefully he'd never have managed on his own.

"Do you have family?" Porthos ventured.

"No," said Athos rather shortly, then seemed to realise he'd been abrupt and continued in a milder tone. "Anyway, this place isn't that bad. It's hardly a prison camp, no matter what Aramis likes to pretend."

Porthos realised then that despite his apparent lack of interest in the dining room, Athos hadn't missed a thing.

"You can come and go as you please. And the food's not bad. And they do all your laundry for you. If you can get over the idea that everyone's waiting for you to die, it's not half bad." Athos drew up at the entrance to a wide glassed corridor that looked identical to the first one. "Here we are. Wren Walk. Number five should be about half way down on the left."

"Thank you." Porthos realised dolefully that he was about to be left on his own again. "I'm sorry to have troubled - " he broke off, remembering Athos' exhortation not to apologise for his existence. "Thank you," he repeated rather lamely.

Athos gave him a considering look. "You know, there's a pub in the village?" he offered finally. "Only a fifteen minute walk, quite pleasant in the sunshine. And we won't even need to tunnel out."

\--

The pub turned out to be a cosy affair, all low beams and old fashioned cushioned oak benches. Porthos settled into one gratefully, trying to hide how breathless he was even from the short walk down the hill.

Athos fetched them both a drink and slid in next to him. There was a log fire across from their table, and Porthos felt his eyelids drooping in the warmth and dim light. Catching himself on the edge of sleep he shook himself and sat up. Athos gave a slight smile.

"I have been known to come here and spend all afternoon dozing," he murmured. "I won't be offended if you drop off."

"I'm fine," Porthos objected, cross with himself. "Thank you, for inviting me."

"That's alright. Always drinking alone can become a little tedious. Besides I remember that feeling of dread from my first week here. It takes a while to adjust, but you get used to it. You'll find there's plenty of company if you want it. And if you don't, well, they'll leave you alone. Eventually." Athos smirked, and sipped his red wine. 

"Have you been here long?" Porthos asked, curious. He judged Athos to be a few years older than him, although not many. He had grey hair that curled down past his ears, and a neat grey beard with flecks of brown in it that unlike Aramis' looked entirely natural.

"Couple of years," Athos told him. "Two and a half, maybe," he amended, considering the question more closely. "It seemed the simplest option when I retired. No property maintenance required. Or cooking for myself," he added with a smile. "I never really got the hang of that."

"I was finding I couldn't manage the house any more, on my own," Porthos said. It had taken a long time for him to come to terms with that, and he was surprised how easily the admission slipped out to Athos. "And I lived a fair distance from my relatives, so - it was hard for them, to keep coming over to do the grass and such." And keep an eye on me, he thought ruefully. 

"Don't see it as a failure," Athos murmured. "Coming here, I mean. Just look at it as letting somebody else do all the hard work for once."

Porthos looked sideways at him, both comforted by his words and slightly prickly that Athos had divined the way he was feeling so easily. 

"What did you do?" Porthos asked. "Before you retired I mean?"

"Architect," said Athos, without elaborating. "You?"

"Photographer. Working for newspapers mostly."

"Oh, paparazzi then?" Athos suggested, with just a twinkle of amusement in his eye to show that he was teasing.

"Warzones, mostly," Porthos retorted, and Athos tipped his glass towards him in a gesture of respect.

"You must have had an eventful life. It really will seem quiet round here."

"Glad of the peace, to be honest," Porthos smiled. "All that death and destruction wears you down after a while. I retired a while ago. Had a few years to enjoy meself anyway, before - before - "

"You lost your wife?" Athos murmured, and Porthos nodded, taking a large gulp of his beer to ground himself again. 

"After Alice went it all seemed a bit pointless," he admitted. "Guess I went downhill a bit. Maybe that's why I ended up here."

"At the last chance hotel?" Athos supplied dryly, and Porthos gave a surprised laugh.

"Am I being maudlin? Aramis accused me of that already."

"Then you're off to a good start," Athos smiled. "When there's nothing else left to live for, annoying as many people as possible is as good a reason as any," he explained, when Porthos looked enquiring.

Porthos laughed again, feeling brighter. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad here after all. 

\--

They took a taxi back up the hill after a couple of drinks, and parted with a promise to do it again some time. 

When Porthos went into dinner that night, still pleasantly buzzing from his couple of beers, he hoped that Athos would be there, and that he could perhaps sit with him. Athos' table though was empty, and he was relieved when Aramis beckoned him over.

"Hello. How are you settling in?" Aramis smiled. "I hear you went drinking with our resident grouch, you are honoured."

Porthos raised his eyebrows, realising exactly how quickly gossip was going to spread around here. He hadn't thought anyone had seen them go.

"Yeah, we went to the pub," he said. "Athos seems nice enough? I thought he might be here, actually."

"Probably still drinking," Aramis said blithely. "Once he's had a couple he finds it hard to stop."

"Oh." The chagrin must have shown on Porthos' face because Aramis waved away his unvoiced concern. 

"Oh don't worry about him. Drinks like a fish but he's got a tougher liver than most teetotallers I know. You know how some people cling to the excuse they could stop if they wanted? I asked him once, and he said he had no idea, he'd never wanted to."

Porthos laughed awkwardly, not entirely sure if it was supposed to be a joke, but Aramis seemed unconcerned. Porthos reflected that he'd known journalists like that, hard-drinking men and women who seemed unaffected by levels of alcohol that would have had him on the floor. He remembered the one thing they'd had in common had been the air of loneliness about them.

The food arrived at that point, and Porthos hesitantly took a bottle of pills out of his pocket, looking round self-consciously. Aramis caught the look and patted him on the shoulder.

"Don't worry, everyone here's on something. Even Athos, although I'm not sure what. Something to counter the vitriol probably. Wait till you see this place at breakfast, some people have got five different pill bottles lined up. It's amazing we don't all rattle as we walk."

Porthos smiled, grateful to Aramis for putting him at his ease. "Have you been here long?" he asked, wondering what he was going to use as a conversational gambit once he'd used this on everyone. 

"Nearly three years?" Aramis estimated, head on one side. "Moved in about the same time as Athos, actually. I suppose that's why we became friends."

"You're friends?" Porthos blurted before he could stop himself, thinking that Aramis had been quite offhandedly rude about Athos every time he'd been mentioned. 

Aramis looked surprised. "Yes? I think. As friendly as Athos gets with anyone, anyway. He's very self-sufficient."

"Must get lonely though," Porthos mused. "Not having anyone."

"Oh his son visits occasionally," Aramis said. "Twice a year maybe?"

Porthos blinked. "He has a son?" He was certain Athos had told him he didn't have any family.

"Yes. I don't think they're particularly close, mind. I don't think Athos lets anyone gets close, come to that."

"That's a shame."

Aramis shrugged. "His choice."

Porthos changed the subject, but it preyed on his mind. He wondered why Athos had lied to him, and why he might not want to admit to having a son, particularly one who apparently cared enough to come and visit him. 

Athos still hadn't appeared at breakfast the next morning, and it wasn't until halfway through the afternoon that Porthos ran across him, sitting alone in the library reading. 

"Hello. Mind if I join you?"

Athos looked up with a frown that cleared slightly when he saw who it was. "Oh, hello. Er, no, be my guest."

Porthos sat down in the leather arm chair next to him, and promptly lost his nerve. Athos had gone back to his book with a pointed focus that was clearly meant to discourage conversation, and Porthos realised he didn't want to screw up their fledgling friendship before it had really begun. What did it matter if Athos had lied? Presumably he had his reasons.

Porthos settled back into the chair with a sigh, and let his eyes roam over the book-shelves opposite. He should pick one, he thought. At least then he'd have an excuse for being here. Maybe he could just close his eyes for a second first though...

When Porthos woke up it was dark outside and Athos had gone, but there was a lamp lit on a side table next to him, and a blanket over his lap that hadn't been there before. Porthos got stiffly to his feet with a grateful smile. 

\--

A couple of weeks passed. Porthos gradually got used to life in his new surroundings, and although it still didn't feel quite like home yet he'd made several friends amongst the residents and staff, and was now able to easily navigate the corridors that had once seemed so mystifying. 

His afternoons he now mostly spent reading; having discovered that Athos made a daily trip to the library to curl up in the chair near the fire, Porthos had started joining him. Athos, for his part, once he realised Porthos was prepared to read and not pester him had been welcoming enough, and in the end they spent many quiet hours conversing in between chapters.

\--

It was Sunday afternoon, and Porthos walked into the dining room for tea to discover a party appeared to be in progress. There were plates of sandwiches and mounds of cake far in excess of the usual Sunday spread, and even a few balloons.

"Is it someone's birthday?" Porthos asked, upon being handed a plateful by Aramis.

"Athos'," came the reply, and Porthos looked surprised.

"Oh, he didn't say?"

"No, he wouldn't," Aramis smirked. "He doesn’t like a fuss."

"Where is he?" Porthos asked, looking around and not seeing him.

"Oh, he's not here. He hates parties," said Aramis nonchalantly. Porthos laughed.

"Let me get this straight, you're holding a party in honour of Athos' birthday - without him?"

"Yes." Aramis grinned. "This way, everyone's happy. Don't worry, we'll send him some cake."

Porthos shook his head in baffled amusement. "Give it to me, I'll take it round."

Five minutes later he was standing in front of Athos' door with a covered plate in one hand and knocking with the other. He'd yet to see inside, although presumed the layout was much the same as his.

Athos opened it looking suspicious but relaxed a little when he saw who it was, leaving Porthos feeling oddly flattered.

"Happy birthday," Porthos smiled, and Athos rolled his eyes. 

"I presume Aramis told you. How's the party?"

"Going well," Porthos nodded, faintly relieved. He'd had a lingering fear they hadn't actually invited Athos, but if he knew all about it then everything was fine. "Here, have some cake, compliments of Aramis."

"As long as he didn't make it." Athos sighed and took the plate, pushing his door wider. "You'd better come in."

Porthos stepped inside, looking around with a certain curiosity. The place was reasonably neat and fairly spartan, with very few ornaments or personal possessions scattered about the place although one wall was entirely books.

On the mantelpiece above the gas fire was one lone birthday card, and Porthos felt a stab of sympathy. 

"You should have said it was your birthday, I'd have got you something."

Athos raised an eyebrow. "And if I'd wanted anything, I'd have told you," he countered. "Tea?"

"Yes please." Porthos wandered over to look at the solitary card. It was matte black with just a silver glittery Happy Birthday printed on the front, understated and very Athos. Porthos smiled.

"At least your son remembered, eh?" he said cheerfully, assuming that was who it was from.

Athos froze, and stared at him.

"Who told you I have a son?" he asked icily. Porthos blinked, belatedly remembering he wasn't supposed to know.

"Aramis," he admitted.

"Aramis. Aramis should know to keep out of my affairs," Athos hissed with a surprising amount of ferocity.

"Look, it's none of my business, I just think it's a shame that you seem to be so estranged," Porthos started, but Athos cut across him.

"No. You're right. It is none of your fucking business," he said tightly, and although he hadn't once raised his voice he was clearly furious. "You don't know me, Porthos. You know nothing about me, you know nothing about the circumstances. How dare you fucking presume?"

"I know he apparently cares enough to send you a birthday card," Porthos protested.

Athos marched across and snatched the card from the mantelpiece, held it out to him. "Here. Since you're so nosy."

"No, I - "

"Take it."

Porthos took it and slowly opened the card, knowing already from the tight feeling in his chest that he'd guessed wrong. 

"Constance," he read dully. 

"Get out," Athos said tiredly, and Porthos looked up at him in shock.

"Athos - "

"I said get out. Get out of my house Porthos. Get out of my life. I don't know what you imagined you were going to do, engineer some sickly reconciliation or what, but trust me, it won't happen. So stop sticking your nose in where it's not fucking wanted."

In the end, Porthos left. It was the only thing he could do. Too upset to go back to the party, Porthos went home, hoping that Athos would come down to supper later on and he'd be able to apologise. Athos though didn't appear again that night, and Porthos wondered miserably if he was drinking himself to sleep.

The next morning, Athos was at least back at his customary table, and steeling himself for confrontation Porthos walked over and slid onto the seat next to him. 

Athos looked up coldly. "I prefer to eat alone."

"I'm not stopping." Porthos took a breath. "I just - came to apologise." He paused, choosing his words, and Athos grudgingly waited for him to finish. "You were right. It wasn't any of my business. I never meant to interfere, or upset you. And I won't do it again. So - anyway. Yeah. Sorry." 

Without waiting for a reply, Porthos got up again and went across to sit at his usual place next to Aramis, shaking his head mutely at Aramis' concerned enquiry as to what that had all been about.

After a moment Athos got up and left, and Porthos felt a dull weight settle in his heart.

Athos didn't appear in the library that afternoon, but wandering aimlessly through the grounds Porthos spotted him sitting on a bench some way distant, nose buried in a book as usual. 

He wondered whether to go over, but it was across a wide stretch of wet grass, or even further round by the paths, and he already felt breathless. More breathless the more he thought about it in fact, and Porthos had to clutch at the nearby brick wall, half doubled over as his vision went blurry. 

He took a few deep breaths, blinking the crumbling red bricks into focus. There was a length of wire stretched in front of his eyes, fading bits of green twine knotted to it at intervals, pegging up the roses, mostly bare thorns at this time of year. The earth sank under the weight of his foot and he realised he was standing half in the flowerbed.

Maybe he should go back into the house. Have a lie down.

Porthos took a breath and straightened up, preparing to let go of the wall. And then the pain hit. 

It was like a vice grip and a sword-blow all at once, and it drove him to his knees. Black spots danced in front of his eyes, and he wanted to cry out but couldn't produce more than a breathless whimper. A second burst of agony seemed to rip him in half, and he wondered for a second if he'd fallen onto one of the garden canes, somehow impaled himself. But there was no blood, no wound, and the terrifying knowledge that it was all coming from within hit him just as everything went black.

\--


	2. Chapter 2

There was a persistent bleeping noise coming from somewhere near his head, and Porthos fumbled about, feeling for his alarm clock to turn it off. He was retired damn it, he couldn't remember why he'd set it in the first place.

His groping fingers were captured in a cool hand and he struggled to open his eyes, not recognising the woman bending over him. His befuddled mind finally identified her nurse's uniform though, and he frowned. 

"Where - what?" His throat was dry and he couldn't manage anything else, but Porthos felt that covered the basics.

"Good morning Mr du Vallon, it's good to see you back with us. You just lie still, and the doctor will be round shortly."

There followed further murmuring, but Porthos was already fading out again as she fiddled with something going into his arm. He did catch the words heart attack and just had time to think 'fuck', before darkness claimed him once again.

The second time he woke up there was a different woman sitting by his bed, and this time it was one he recognised.

"Constance?"

"Porthos." She gave him a sweet smile. "Hello. How are you feeling?"

"Like shit." He struggled to sit up, and Constance frowned but finally helped him when she saw he was determined. She, too, was a nurse he remembered. She helped him sip some water and he felt a bit better.

"You gave us all quite a fright," she remonstrated gently.

"Thought I was a goner," Porthos admitted.

"You nearly were," she said gravely, then smiled. "Fortunately you had the good sense to keel over in sight of Athos. He gave you CPR until the ambulance arrived. The paramedics said he probably saved your life."

Porthos took this in. "Didn't think he even liked me," he muttered. 

Constance smiled. "Athos is a nice guy on the quiet. He just hates anybody knowing it."

Porthos smiled back. "Will I be allowed to come home?" he asked tentatively. It was a retirement village, not a nursing home. If he was deemed too sick he would be outside the terms of his residency agreement. 

He realised it was the first time he'd thought of it as home. It would be too ironic if he wasn't allowed back.

"Of course. They tell me there's no reason you shouldn't make a complete recovery," Constance reassured him. "A few days in here, and maybe a week in step-down care, and then you'll be right as rain." 

\--

Ten days later Porthos was delivered back to the residential home by minibus, and walked in just in time for lunch. He was welcomed with enthusiasm by the assembled crowd, but as he took his accustomed seat next to Aramis he couldn't help noticing Athos' table was empty.

"Where's Athos?"

"Oh, he's become something of the cause célèbre since saving your life," said Aramis, sounding amused. "Of course being Athos he absolutely hates the attention and has taken to eating in his rooms."

Porthos winced. Yet one more way he'd inconvenienced Athos. The man would probably never speak to him again.

After lunch Porthos made his way nervously down to Athos' bungalow. Regardless of any bad feeling, he owed Athos his thanks and was determined to tell him to his face. Before he could change his mind he lifted a hand and knocked on Athos' door.

It was almost a minute before it opened, and Porthos had just decided Athos was ignoring him when it swung back and he was mildly alarmed to find Athos was leaning on a cane.

"Porthos." Athos looked surprised, and then to Porthos' relief, pleased. "You're back. How are you?"

"Better than I have any reason to be, thanks to you I hear," Porthos said warmly. "I came to say thank you."

Athos waved it away. "Anyone would have done the same."

"Yeah, but they didn't. You did. Let me thank you."

Athos flushed slightly, but conceded the point. "Would you like a cup of tea?" he offered eventually, when they'd stared at each other in awkward silence for a few seconds.

"Only if it's no bother?" Porthos said. "I don't want to push my company on you if it's not welcome."

Athos shrugged dismissively and turned away from the door, but he left it open and Porthos followed him cautiously inside.

"Are you okay?" he asked, not wanting to draw attention to the rather painful way Athos was hobbling across to the kitchenette, but too concerned to stay quiet.

"Just a bit of arthritis," Athos said. "Flares up now and then. Mostly at the change of seasons. Six months of the year I'm almost fine." He gave Porthos a lopsided smile and went to fill the kettle.

Porthos let this go, but he remembered how far away Athos had been sitting when he'd collapsed, and had a sudden mental image of Athos running harder across the grass than his body was prepared to accommodate without reprisals.

"You saved my life Athos," he said quietly. "Thank you."

Athos glanced up and then away again, only meeting his eyes for a moment. "You're welcome," he said stiffly. "It was nothing. You don't owe me or anything. Forget it."

"Hardly likely." Porthos leaned back against the kitchen counter and looked at him. "Also, I wanted to apologise if I've caused you any grief. Aramis said you've been hiding away in here ever since."

Athos muttered something that sounded like 'Bloody Aramis', but he was occupied with teabags and milk, and Porthos didn't quite catch it. 

"Tell you what," Porthos said, making up his mind. "Why don't we skip the tea and go to the pub instead?"

Athos did look up at him then, and raised an amused eyebrow. 

"You've just had a heart attack. I'm fairly sure you shouldn't be drinking."

"I can have a coke," Porthos countered.

"It's a long walk."

"We'll get a taxi. Both ways." Porthos nodded firmly. "I'll meet you out front in twenty minutes. Don't be late."

\--

It was cold outside despite the spring sunshine, and Porthos was glad of his thick coat and scarf. He was just concluding that Athos was going to be a no show when he emerged from the front doors just as the taxi pulled in.

Dressed in an expensive looking dark grey wool coat and felt hat, he had black leather gloves on and was still leaning on the cane.

Porthos gave him a grin that was ninety percent relief. "I was starting to think you weren't coming."

"I almost didn't." Athos looked confused, as if he still wasn't quite sure why he had. 

Porthos opened the taxi door for him, and Athos folded himself inside, moving awkwardly but without giving away any outward sign of pain. Porthos went round the other side, and climbed in next to him.

\--

The pub was warm and almost empty, and they instinctively headed for the same bench they'd occupied before.

Athos fetched them drinks, and Porthos looked enquiring when he brought over two glasses of coke. 

"Solidarity," Athos explained, clinking their glasses together. "A misery shared is a misery doubled and all that jazz."

Porthos laughed, touched by Athos' gesture and relieved that they seemed to be friends again. After they'd sat in companionable peace for a while talking about nothing more controversial than his recovery, he took a gamble.

"Tell me about your son."

Athos was silent for a long time, then sighed.

"Raoul was the result of a one-night stand. I didn't even know he existed until he turned up on my doorstep at the age of nineteen."

"That must have comes as a shock."

"You have no idea," Athos murmured, sipping his drink. 

"I suppose he'd built up some fantasy father figure in his head," Athos continued after a pause. "Apparently I fell far short of his expectations. We've never really got along. I have tried," he added, a little defensively.

"Aramis says he comes to visit you though?"

"Out of a sense of duty, I presume. Can you imagine how hateful it is to feel that someone believes they have that kind of obligation to you?" Athos shifted in his seat, swallowed more coke and looked like he wished he'd gone for the wine option after all.

"Look, I lied," Athos admitted slowly. "About how coming here was all part of my great labour-saving plan, and how fantastic it all was. Truth is, I had an accident - a fall," he amended, with a bitter laugh. "God, how dreadfully old that makes you sound doesn't it? Anyway, it was decided I shouldn't live on my own any more, for my own safety. There was this dreadful pause when I told Raoul that, you could see the fear in his eyes, that I was going to ask if I could move in with him." 

Athos swallowed more coke and grimaced. "I didn't, of course. I came here. I think he visits me out of gratitude and the knowledge it could have been so much worse."

Porthos stayed silent, letting him speak. It was the most he'd ever heard Athos talk, certainly about himself.

Athos sighed. "When I first came here - I considered killing myself," he admitted, and Porthos stared at him in shock.

"I was having trouble sleeping. They were giving me pills for it. I considered saving them up, taking them all at once."

"But you didn't." It wasn't - quite - a question.

"No. I decided to make the little bastard wait as long as possible to inherit." Athos smiled mirthlessly, and drained his glass. "I now intend to live forever, or die trying." 

Athos looked sideways. "I guess what I'm saying is I saw the same expression on your face, when you arrived. Lost. Like you'd lost your purpose in the world. I suppose it's why I tried to - perhaps be a little friendlier than I would usually have been."

"And I appreciated it. But then I ballsed it up," Porthos said gloomily.

Athos shook his head. "No, I did. Too stupidly touchy."

"I shouldn't have pried."

"I shouldn't have been rude to you." Athos hesitated. "It's bothered me. That I upset you. If the stress of it - " he let the thought tail off, but Porthos shook his head firmly.

"No. Absolutely not. The doctors said I could have gone pop at any time, it wasn't your fault Athos."

"Still. I shouldn't have been such a bastard."

Porthos smiled, but he felt oddly shaken. "Fuck it," he said, suddenly banging his glass down on the table. "Let's get shitfaced."

"Are you sure that's wise?" Athos protested, catching his sleeve as Porthos made to get up.

"What's the point in surviving miserably just for the sake of it?" Porthos said. "Let's live a little."

\--

It was nearly midnight when they rolled out of the taxi, and they were holding each other up. Neither had drunk quite as much as they fondly believed they were still capable of, but they'd acquitted themselves well, and could barely stand.

Porthos made to head for his bungalow, but Athos grabbed him.

"No-n-no. This way," he slurred, steering Porthos towards his own rooms, and then taking several minutes to get the key in the lock. Porthos, who'd followed him obediently suddenly realised they were in Athos' house and not his, and looked confused.

"I should go home."

"You've just drunk enough to fell a cow and you're recovering from a heart attack," Athos said, shedding his coat and peeling Porthos' off him as well. "I am not letting you out of my sight."

"There's only one bed," Porthos pointed out, seeing the flaw in this plan.

"I'll sleep on the couch."

They were facing each other by now, still swaying slightly.

"You, um. Don't have to," Porthos stumbled.

They stared at each other for a loaded second. Both had felt - something, some connection, some attraction, but neither had voiced it, and while Porthos had talked at length about his late wife, Athos had kept conspicuously quiet on the subject of previous partners. 

"Are you saying - "

"Yes. What? Am I saying what?" Porthos amended, but Athos had a wry smile on his face that Porthos was suddenly desperate to kiss off him.

They came together in a crash, both moving forward at the same time, kissing each other hard. 

Pulling back they stared at each other, each assessing that the other was apparently okay with this, before coming together for a second kiss, gentler and more lasting but no less passionate.

Several minutes of this and they'd somehow moved into the bedroom, and were pulling each other's shirts off.

"I should warn you," Athos said, "I have drunk entirely too much to be capable of anything."

"That's alright," Porthos mumbled. "So have I. Let's just go to bed."

Naked but too drunk to be self-conscious, they fell into bed together, relaxing into each other's arms with a certain sleepy relief that neither would be expected to perform. Half hard, they simply enjoyed the warmth of the embrace, and kissed each other for a long time before falling quietly asleep.

\--

Athos woke first the next morning, and was driven out of bed by the need for a piss. He pulled on pyjama bottoms and poured himself a glass of water, taking his blood pressure meds plus a painkiller for his throbbing head before slipping back into bed beside Porthos who was still snoring gently. 

Athos was sitting propped up and shirtless, musing quietly on the unexpected events of the night before when he heard someone let themselves in through the front door. Before he could move, a moment later they burst into the bedroom.

"Athos have you seen Porthos, he's not at home and I'm worried - oh." Constance came to an abrupt halt at seeing the two men in bed together. "Oh. I, er. Oh."

"That'll teach you to knock," Athos said mildly, and Constance went red.

"Sorry Athos. Porthos wasn't at home when I went in to check he'd taken his pills, and I got worried. Is he - alright?"

Athos looked down and smiled. "He's asleep. Leave him alone. Are those his meds?"

Constance nodded and Athos gestured to them. "Give them to me, I'll see he takes them when he wakes up."

"Did you two - you know?" she asked, finally unable to restrain her curiosity.

Athos raised an eyebrow. "At our age? Don't be disgusting."

She was almost at the door when he called out. "Constance? Couldn't get hold of some condoms for me could you?"

She looked back and grinned. "At your age? What you scared of catching?"

Athos gave a quiet laugh as the door closed behind her. "Fair point," he murmured.

When Porthos woke up a while later, he did a bleary double take when he realised he was in bed with Athos.

"Morning," said Athos neutrally, trying to judge by Porthos' rather tight expression if he was about to do a runner, and preparing himself to allow it.

"Morning." Porthos ventured a smile and Athos relaxed a fraction, smiling back. 

"How are you feeling?"

"Rough as a sack of weasels."

"Here." Athos handed over his own half-drunk glass of water, and Porthos took it gratefully.

"Oh, and here. You'd better have these too." Athos handed over the small paper cup of pills and Porthos frowned at him.

"How come you've got my meds?"

"Constance brought them. She was looking for you. Worried you'd keeled over into another flowerbed, I presume."

Porthos froze. "Constance - was here? Did she see us in bed?"

"Well - yes. Is that a problem?"

"She won't tell anyone, will she?" Porthos asked anxiously, swallowing the pills one by one and wincing.

"Does it matter if she does?" Athos asked a little acidly.

"No - I guess not," Porthos said, but he was clearly uncomfortable with the idea, and Athos sighed inwardly. 

"I'll let you get dressed," he said, and climbed out of bed, pulling on pyjama top and dressing gown. 

"Would you like some tea?" Athos offered, seeing that Porthos looked embarrassed and a little stricken that he'd obviously chased Athos away, but he also noted that Porthos didn't call him back to bed.

"Thank you."

Athos went out into the kitchen, hearing Porthos moving around and then using the bathroom. He wondered if Porthos regretted what they'd done. They had been rather drunk. Possibly he didn't even remember.

"Look, I should go home and change," Porthos said quietly, appearing behind him. "Sorry," he added, seeing that Athos had already made two mugs of tea.

"No problem," Athos said, and they looked at each other awkwardly. 

"See you at breakfast then, eh?" 

"Yes."

Porthos swallowed, took a step towards the door, then hesitated, turned back and gave Athos a clumsy kiss on the cheek. He left without another word, but Athos stared at the door for some time after he'd gone.

\--

When Porthos came in to breakfast Athos was already seated, head down in a book. Porthos faltered, unsure if he should try and join him, and conscious that the last time he'd tried that Athos had snapped at him. Admittedly that had been before last night. That was another thing, if he joined Athos now it would surely become a source of gossip to the rest of the residents, and he wasn't sure he was ready for that. He knew it shouldn't bother him, and it clearly didn't bother Athos, but then Athos gave less of a fuck about a lot of things.

In the end Aramis called out to him and Porthos sat next to him instead, feeling guilty but conflicted. The feelings of confusion increased when a minute or so later Athos stood up without a word and left the room without a glance in his direction, and without touching his breakfast. The possible reason for this only became apparent when Porthos had nearly finished eating. One of the ladies had asked him to read the wording on a poster, and he'd had to fish out his glasses. It was only as the room swam into sharper focus that he noticed the second place setting at Athos' table. He'd clearly expected Porthos to join him - must have asked for the cutlery even - and Porthos hadn't. 

Porthos felt sick, and not just from the lingering hangover. After his reluctance that morning, Athos must think he was unwilling to even be seen together with him.

Making his way miserably out of the dining room, he bumped into Constance.

"You haven't seen Athos have you?"

"No, sorry, I was just coming to look for him actually." Constance took in his expression and frowned. "Everything okay?"

"I think I've just upset him," Porthos confessed heavily. "I didn’t mean to, but it looks like I snubbed him." He sighed. "Oh well. I'm probably dreaming anyway. What would he see in a decrepit old fart like me?"

Constance looked around to make sure they were alone and slipped him a small box. Porthos stared at the packet of condoms in surprise, then back at Constance for explanation.

"Athos asked me to get them for him earlier," she said. "So I'm guessing your luck might be more in than you think?"

Porthos flushed. "That was before this morning's debacle," he said gloomily. 

Constance clucked. "The thing with Athos? He's crap at apologies. Giving or receiving of. But if you just pretend that nothing happened, nine times out of ten he'll go along with it."

"You reckon?"

She nodded firmly. "Worth a try."

Porthos found Athos on his usual bench in the grounds, and sat down next to him.

Athos looked briefly sideways, then returned his gaze blankly to the book. "What?"

In answer, Porthos dropped the condom packet onto the open pages. Athos looked up in shock, and Porthos pursed his lips.

"Constance asked me to deliver them. Said you'd asked for them."

To Porthos' interest Athos blushed scarlet, the first time he'd ever seen him do so. Athos made to shove the box into his pocket, but Porthos reached out and covered Athos' hand with his own.

"Be a shame to see them go to waste," he said quietly.

Athos looked at him more searchingly, and Porthos gave a slight nod. 

"I'm sorry about breakfast," Porthos said. "I ballsed that up. I didn't see the place setting until I had me glasses on, and by then it was too late. Why didn't you just call me over, you daft fruit?"

Athos said nothing, but Porthos could guess the answer for himself - too scared of rejection, for all Athos' hard facade.

"So?" Porthos prompted. "How about it?"

"What, now?" Athos sounded faintly amused, and Porthos nodded, encouraged.

"Why not?"

\--


	3. Chapter 3

Porthos took him properly by the hand and Athos let himself be pulled to his feet. To his surprise, Porthos kept hold of his hand as they walked across the grounds and into Athos' bungalow.

Once inside, Porthos pulled Athos into his arms and kissed him on the lips, figuring that things would only get awkward if they started talking to each other.

Athos smiled. "You don't waste any time, do you?"

"My age, I haven't got much to waste. Get yer kit off," Porthos grinned, and Athos laughed. 

"We might need more than just condoms," he murmured, as Porthos pushed him into the bedroom.

"What, like viagra and a shoe horn?"

"No, I was thinking more - oh." Athos stopped at the sight of a sizeable lube pump sitting by the bedside table.

"I'm guessing that's not toothpaste?" Porthos said, leaning over his shoulder.

"Er, no."

"And you didn't put it there?"

"It must have been Constance," Athos said faintly.

"She really does think of everything."

"Well she is a nurse."

"Hmmn." Porthos wondered how he felt about her aiding and abetting them, then decided he didn't care.

"You sure you're okay with this?" Athos asked as they undressed, a little more sedately than the night before.

"Yeah," Porthos replied, nodding immediately.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but - have you - ?"

"Yes." Porthos took Athos into his arms. "I was married, for a long time, to a woman, yeah. But before that I was in a long-term relationship with a guy. So it's been a while, but no, this ain't my first rodeo. Does that answer your question?"

"Admirably." Athos kissed him. "Thank you. Sorry, I didn't want to sound like I was prying."

"Not a problem." Porthos sat on the bed and pulled Athos down into his lap. "If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say it's not been so long between men for you?"

Athos conceded the point. "Actually, I've only ever slept with a woman once in my life."

Porthos blinked, taking his meaning. "Wow. So, you've got like, a hundred percent hit rate. Boom. Pregnant."

Athos burst out laughing, and Porthos pulled him down to the bed, grinning. "Fuck me," he growled, and Athos kissed him.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather - "

"No," Porthos interrupted. "I want you inside me."

"As you wish." Athos smiled at him, manoeuvring them both under the duvet where it was warmer.

They took their time, getting to know each other’s bodies with a slow intimacy. In truth it had been some while since either of them had had sex of any kind, and they both needed the space to relax into it, gradually building up to a sweet and unhurried session of lovemaking that left them both faintly astonished by how successful it was.

"For the record," Porthos murmured, as they lay on the cusp of sleep afterwards, Athos' head resting on his shoulder. "I don't mind if people know. About us, I mean. This."

"We don't have to tell them if you'd rather not," Athos said, and Porthos breathed a silent sigh of relief he hadn't objected to the bigger assumption that this was more than a one-night stand. "It's none of their business anyway."

Porthos shook his head. "No. You were right. It shouldn't matter. If you're happy to be open about it, then so am I."

"You said you were with a man, before?" Athos asked.

"Yeah, but things were a bit different back then," Porthos admitted. "You couldn't be quite so open about who you were seeing, if it was a man."

"Did your wife know you were bisexual?" Athos asked, then winced. "Sorry. None of my business."

Porthos kissed him on the forehead. "I don't mind. I like that you're interested. And yes, she did. I was always faithful to her though, so I guess it didn't really make any material difference."

"Nice to have someone who understands though," Athos mused.

"Yeah." Porthos hugged him close. "Was there anyone for you? Long-term, I mean?" he ventured.

"Not really," Athos admitted. "There were a few who lasted longer than the others. Three, maybe, over the years. That I really cared for. The longest I was with someone was seven years, on and off. I travelled a lot. Never very long in one place."

"Sounds lonely."

"It suited me at the time." Athos leaned up and kissed him softly on the mouth. "Thank you," he said quietly. "For this."

"Thank _you_ ," Porthos echoed with a smile. He sighed, although it was born of contentment rather than melancholy. "It's funny," he murmured. "When Alice died I didn't think I'd ever want to be with anyone else. Certainly no other woman. I guess I never predicted this." 

"I'm sure she'd have wanted you to be happy," Athos ventured, and Porthos nodded.

"Yes. I guess she would." He winced. "Sorry, I should stop talking about her."

"You don't have to," Athos told him, winding an arm around Porthos' middle and hugging him close. "Not on my account." 

Porthos hugged him back, and a few minutes later fell asleep with a bemused smile on his face, thinking what an unfeasibly lucky man he was.

\--

“So…” Aramis fell into step beside Porthos and gave him a look of amused enquiry. “You and Athos, eh?”

“What about us?” Porthos stopped walking and looked at him suspiciously. Granted he’d been prepared for the fact that he’d shared Athos’ table at breakfast that morning to raise a few eyebrows, but it surely didn’t warrant this level of suggestiveness. Even from Aramis.

“Old Mrs Kendall reckoned she saw you holding hands yesterday,” Aramis declared. “Now given she’s blind as a bat without her glasses and given to reading lurid gay romance novels I wouldn’t normally have credited her, but then you were sitting together this morning. Is there anything I should know?”

“Is there any reason you should know at all?” Porthos countered. 

“At this point, hot gossip is about all I’ve got to live for,” Aramis grinned. “Go on, spill.”

Porthos sighed. “Fine. If you must know we’re - together. I guess. We, um, went to bed together.”

“Really?” Aramis slapped him on the back. “Good for you. Glad one of us is getting some round here.”

Porthos relaxed a little and smiled. He hadn’t been entirely sure what sort of reception he’d get, coming out at his age. But Aramis was still grinning delightedly.

“I’d always pretty much figured Athos, but I confess I never had you pegged.” Aramis sniggered. “Although it sounds like Athos has.”

Porthos spluttered with laughter and gave him a push. “Shut up.”

“I’d promise not to tell anyone, but we both know I’d be lying.” Aramis winked at him. “See you round, eh?”

\--

Porthos had been settled in the library for some time that afternoon and was just starting to wonder where Athos had got to when he walked in looking slightly flustered. 

“Sorry I’m late. I was accosted by three separate people on the way here who all congratulated me on getting my leg over,” he murmured. “Would you happen to know anything about that?”

Porthos cleared his throat guiltily. “Ah. I might have told Aramis.”

“That would explain it.” Athos settled back in his chair. “I rather got the impression you wanted to keep it low key. You must have known Aramis would tell everyone?”

Porthos shrugged. “Maybe I decided I’m too old to worry about things that make me happy,” he said, and Athos smiled at him, reaching over to briefly squeeze his hand. “You don’t mind, do you?” Porthos added anxiously.

“Me? No, I don’t care,” Athos assured him. “Tell who you want.”

Relieved, Porthos went to browse the shelves in search of a new book. He’d been wandering slowly up and down for a few minutes when a small section on one of the lower shelves caught his eye.

“Blimey!”

Athos smirked without looking up. “Do I detect from your tone you’ve found Mrs Kendall’s shelf?” he enquired.

Porthos glanced round at him. “I never thought they’d stock this kind of thing.”

“There’s a book fund. Residents can request whatever titles they want to see,” Athos told him. 

“Oh. Right.” Porthos went back to looking at the shelf with interest, then made another noise of surprise. “Some of these are written by a Kendall?”

“Susannah?” Athos asked. “It’s her grand-daughter. Don’t worry, we won’t have to start closing the curtains.”

Porthos laughed, and carried one of the books back over to his chair. “You wouldn’t think she was into this sort of thing, to look at her,” he mused.

“Mrs Kendall? Lifetime of reading Mills and Boon, then heard her grand-daughter had been published, and insisted on reading it. I’m told it opened her eyes to a whole new genre,” Athos said with dry amusement. 

“Have you read any?”

“Me? No.” Athos went pointedly back to his own book, and Porthos took the hint and started reading himself. 

A couple of chapters in, and he couldn’t stop himself. “Crikey.”

Athos looked up, and Porthos met his eyes with an expression that was half impressed and half shocked. “There’s some stuff in here that even I haven’t tried.”

“Maybe you should be taking notes,” Athos teased. “Although I warn you if any of it involves props, my tastes are depressingly conservative.”

Porthos grinned and carried on reading. It was certainly effective, if not quite best-seller material, and he was soon secretly nursing an erection.

“Afternoon boys, would you like some tea in here?” Constance had walked in without Porthos hearing her, and he hastily clapped the book down over his groin, belatedly realised the cover depicted two naked men disporting themselves, and clapped his hands over the book as well, trying to look innocent.

“Not for me thanks,” Athos was saying. “I’ll only end up having to go to the loo three times in the next hour and I can‘t be arsed to get up.”

“Thank you for sharing,” Constance said absently, trying to see what book Porthos was trying to hide. “Oh, is that one of Susannah’s?”

“Have you read it?” Porthos asked in surprise, wondering what sort of hotbed of homoerotic vice he’d fallen into.

“No,” Constance said thoughtfully. “I tried one once, but there was too much throbbing for my tastes. I’ll see you at supper then?” She walked out again, and Porthos sighed with relief.

“What is the matter with you?” Athos asked, looking at his flustered expression.

“This dick-lit’s a bit too effective,” Porthos confessed, lifting up the book to reveal his erection. “Don’t suppose you fancy a quickie do you?”

Athos snorted. “I haven’t been able to manage a quickie for about twenty years. But if you give me a run-up I might pull it off.” 

Porthos stood up eagerly and held out his hand. Athos, laughing, let himself be pulled to his feet.

\--

Having made it back to Athos’ bedroom in record time, the speed of their liaison stalled a little when it became apparent that despite all best endeavours, Athos wasn’t going to be able to manage anything above half-mast.

“Sorry.” Athos gave Porthos a rueful smile, embarrassed but philosophical. “Once upon a time I could manage three times a night, now it appears I’m more of a once a week man. Looks like you’ll have to do the honours this time.”

Porthos shook his head. “That hardly seems fair if you’re not, um, up for it.”

“I don’t mind,” Athos told him blithely. “Use it or lose it, I say.”

“I don’t want to become a - ” Porthos broke off and laughed. “Well, I was going to say a pain in the arse.”

Athos smiled at him. “Alright, I’ve got a better idea. Come here.” He patted the bed next to him and Porthos sat down, only to watch Athos slide to the floor and kneel between his legs.

“Bloody hell,” Porthos said hoarsely, as Athos proceeded to lift his still respectably hard cock out of his underpants, and go to work on it.

Porthos threaded his fingers into Athos’ grey hair and groaned with pleasure. He’d never expected this and would have been far too shy to ask for it, but Athos’ matter-of-fact attitude was as reassuring as his warm and willing mouth was heavenly. 

He didn’t last long, was coming before he could even croak a warning, but Athos didn’t seem to mind that either, just swallowed around him without fuss and with every sign of enjoyment. Afterwards, he stayed leaning against Porthos’ thigh while they both got their breath back, Porthos bending over him with one hand down the collar of Athos’ open shirt, caressing the back of his neck.

“You coming up here, or what?” Porthos asked after a moment, when Athos still showed no signs of moving.

“You might have to help me up, I think my knees have locked,” Athos confessed, giving him a sheepish look.

With a laugh that was half concern and half exasperation, Porthos heaved him up and they sprawled together on the bed.

“You alright?” Porthos asked, panting.

“Yeah.” Athos gave a breathy laugh, hiding his face in Porthos’ shoulder. “God I hate being old.” His own trousers and pants were still round his knees, and Porthos reached down experimentally to see if the preceding events had left Athos any perkier. 

“Just gimme kiss,” Athos mumbled, capturing Porthos’ wandering hand, and Porthos gathered him into his arms and kissed him soundly.

“Thank you,” Porthos whispered, once they’d shed all remaining items of clothing and were tucked up more comfortably under the duvet. “For - you know.”

“My pleasure.” Athos kissed him. “Glad I haven’t lost my touch.” He gave Porthos a wicked smirk. “Shame I’ve still got all my teeth really, it could have been a really interesting experience for you.”

Porthos choked with laughter and rolled them over until he was lying firmly on top of Athos. “You’re incorrigible,” he declared. “Worse than Aramis on the quiet, ain’t ya?”

“Better,” Athos corrected, grinning up at him. “Better than Aramis.”

\--

As the weeks went by they settled into an agreeable routine, spending much of their time together whilst still retaining enough autonomy that it never felt stifling or too much like an obligation. Somehow Sunday afternoons evolved into being their time for making love, and both looked forward to these sessions with a discreet and happy anticipation.

Spring turned into summer, and their relationship gradually became less of a subject for gossip amongst the other residents and just another fact of life. They would often sleep together, just in the sense of sharing a bed, and found they enjoyed the other’s companionship a surprising amount. 

Athos found that Porthos’ jolly and steadying influence meant that he was drinking less, having someone to turn to in those moments when ordinarily he‘d have turned to the bottle. Equally, Athos had encouraged Porthos to take up with his photography equipment again, seeing that he needed something to keep his mind occupied.

Porthos had barely touched his cameras since he retired, but now discovered a new pleasure in documenting life around the place, from the wildlife in the grounds and the to-ings and fro-ings around the pub and church in the village, to the day-to-day happenings on the residential estate.

Aramis, particularly, enjoyed having his photo taken, and used it as an excuse to pose in a series of salacious positions with various female members of staff. They all indulged him, knowing his intentions to be entirely harmless, and it was only Athos who asked if he wasn’t ashamed of himself. Aramis declared the answer was no, and Porthos separated them bodily and dragged Athos off for a cup of tea before it could turn into an argument. 

Of all Porthos’ subjects, it was Athos himself who proved the most elusive, refusing point blank to sit for a portrait shot. Porthos finally managed to catch him unawares, presenting Athos a couple of days later with a beautifully atmospheric black and white shot of him reading in the library. 

Initially irritable that Porthos had taken it without him knowing, Athos finally gave in with good grace when Porthos said plaintively how much he’d wanted a photo of him. He had to admit it was a nice shot, and probably the best picture of him he’d seen. 

“You’re very clever,” Athos said, kissing Porthos on the cheek. 

“It doesn‘t take a lot of brainpower to point and click,” Porthos laughed, but Athos shook his head. 

“Talented, then. That’s something else entirely.”

“It helps to have inspiration,” Porthos told him. “And to care about the subject of the shot.”

Athos blushed, and gruffly changed the subject. But he kissed Porthos again anyway.

\--

One Saturday morning in June, Athos didn’t appear at breakfast in the communal dining room. This wasn’t normally a cause for concern so much as an indication that he was probably hungover, but Porthos had been with him the previous evening, and was sure Athos hadn’t had more than a glass of wine with his supper. Unless he’d started on the hard stuff after Porthos had gone home he should have been fine, and Athos had seemed happy enough when Porthos had left him.

Mildly concerned, after breakfast Porthos made his way down to call on him. To his relief Athos opened the door immediately to his knock.

“You okay?” Porthos asked as Athos let him in. “I missed you at breakfast.”

“Yes, I’m fine. Sorry, I lost track of time.” Athos attempted a smile, but he looked unusually distracted, and Porthos spied an open letter lying on the counter. He wondered if Athos had received bad news.

“Something’s bothering you,” he persisted. “Can I help?”

Athos sighed. “It’s Raoul,” he admitted. “He’s decided to descend in his semi-annual visitation. I do wish he wouldn’t bother.”

“When’s he coming?”

“Tomorrow.” Athos looked gloomy at the thought they‘d have to postpone their regular liaison. “Sorry.” 

“That’s alright,” Porthos told him. “I’m curious to see what he’s like.”

Athos hesitated. “Ah. Er - about that. I, um.”

Porthos guessed what he was hedging around with such uncharacteristic vagueness.

“You don’t want me to meet him?” he said bluntly.

Athos winced. “Sorry. It would just make it easier for me it you weren’t here. One of the many things about me that disappointed him was the discovery I was a homosexual,” he added bitterly. 

“I’ll make meself scarce then.”

“Sorry,” Athos said again, looking wretched, and Porthos took him into his arms.

“Hey. It’s okay. Really. I don’t want to stress you out any more than you already are.” He could feel how tense Athos was, and kissed him on the temple. “Just give me a shout when he’s gone.”

“I don’t imagine I’ll be in the mood for much,” Athos warned. Porthos smiled.

“I was thinking more you might be in need of a hug,” he said.

\--

Late the following afternoon, Porthos found himself lurking in the main reception area trying to pretend to himself that he wasn’t deliberately circumventing Athos’ expressed wishes. 

Too intensely curious to pass up the opportunity of laying eyes on the elusive Raoul, even then he nearly missed him. Athos’ tale of meeting him at the age of nineteen had somehow left Porthos with a mental image of a sulky teenager, but the man now striding across the lobby was in his forties at least. 

Porthos had wondered why Athos had never seemed to question the boy’s paternity, but now he could see why. The man before him was the spitting image of a younger Athos. He’d have been handsome if he’d been smiling, but his mouth was set in a hard line, and there was a palpable irritation about his rapid steps. 

Before Porthos really knew what he was doing he’d stepped out to accost him before the man could disappear out of the door.

“Excuse me - Mr la Fere?”

Raoul stopped and glared at him. “Michon, actually, but Athos de la Fere is my father, yes. Can I help you?” 

Porthos hesitated. He hadn’t actually meant to speak to him and wasn’t sure what to say. “Um - sorry to bother you - you don’t know me, but I’m a friend of your father’s, and - ”

Raoul gave him a more penetrating look, as if somewhere a penny had dropped. “Oh. You must be Porthos.”

“Uh - yes. He mentioned me?” Porthos asked in surprise. He’d assumed Athos had wanted him out of the way in order to hide their relationship from his son. But apparently not.

“Yes. At some length, by my father’s standards.” Raoul looked Porthos up and down. “I’m glad he’s found someone,” he said finally.

Porthos blinked. “From what Athos said, I got the impression you wouldn’t approve,” he couldn’t help blurting.

“There are a lot of things my father and I disagree on,” Raoul said stiffly. “But I accept that his sexuality is not something he can do anything about.”

“Big of you,” Porthos muttered. 

“I’m sure he’s been less than complimentary about me,” Raoul sighed. “I would not expect to find you sympathetic.”

“Actually he’s not said a lot about you at all,” Porthos admitted. “I gather you don’t get on.”

“I try and live my life according to a very firm set of morals,” Raoul said. “My work for Greenpeace, for example. My father, as far as I can tell, has lived his life at odds with most of what I believe in.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Porthos asked, thinking that underneath the grumpy exterior he’d always found Athos to be rather kinder than most.

“Well, apart from his incessant drinking, which is arguably a sickness, although one he refuses to seek treatment for, my biggest problem is with his choice of career. He was - is, I suppose - a very clever man, and could have followed any path he chose. So when a man _chooses_ to spend his life designing missile installations and the like, _that_ I have a problem with.”

Porthos gaped at him. “He told me he was an architect,” he said finally, not knowing what else to say.

“He lies. You’ll learn that.” Raoul stuck out his hand. “I need to be going I’m afraid, nice to have met you.”

Porthos shook his hand, feeling rather dazed. Lost in thought, he made his way automatically towards Athos’ bungalow. He couldn’t imagine why Athos had lied about it, although given Raoul’s reaction perhaps it wasn’t that surprising. Whilst minded to be sympathetic, the knowledge Athos had lied to him at least twice now rankled a little, and he banged on the door rather harder than he normally did.

It was flung open with considerable force, and Porthos almost took a step back.

“What the fuck do you want now - oh. Porthos.” Athos faltered, irritation turning to confusion, but all Porthos could see was the angry misery etched openly across his face.

“Hey.” He walked in and Athos gave way before him, flustered. “You okay? Come here.” Before Athos could object Porthos pulled him into a hug. He could feel Athos practically vibrating with tension, and held him close. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “I got you.”

\--


	4. Chapter 4

After a second of awkward stiffness Athos returned the hug fiercely, and allowed Porthos to hold him comfortingly tight for an indulgent moment before pulling back. Porthos could smell whisky on him, and saw a half-empty tumbler on the table. He guessed it had started life full, and felt a stab of anger that Raoul should have put him in such a state. 

“Was he unkind to you?” Porthos demanded, suddenly worried that perhaps he shouldn’t have agreed to leave them alone, that Athos’ anxiety over his visits stemmed from something worse than mere arguments. “I’ll track him down and push him through a window if he was.”

Athos gave a stifled laugh. “No, no, nothing like that. We just rub each other up the wrong way, that’s all,” he sighed. “We always start off trying to be civil, but as soon as one of us ventures an opinion it’s all downhill from there. I wish he wouldn‘t bother coming.” Athos stepped back out of Porthos’ arms and went to fetch his glass. “Sorry,” he murmured, flushing slightly as he took a much-needed drink and gave Porthos a look loaded with guilt.

“You don’t have to apologise for it. Not to me.” Porthos shook his head, and gave Athos a sad smile. Athos returned it tightly, fingers white around the glass. 

“Maybe I should apologise for being a mess,” Athos murmured. “It just brings it home to me every time, what a failure I am as a father.”

“No you’re not,” Porthos objected loyally, but Athos just waved an arm as if to illustrate his point with the departed Raoul. 

“I wonder sometimes, if things would have been different if I’d been there when he was a child,” Athos mused. “Why didn’t she tell me she was pregnant? I‘d have been there for her. Hell, I‘d have married her if she‘d wanted.”

“Maybe she thought having someone obligated to her like that would have been hateful,” Porthos said mildly. Athos frowned at him, then conceded a reluctant smile.

“Are you using my own words against me, you bastard?”

“Well, it’s not like you’re going to listen to anyone else, is it?”

Athos sighed. “Maybe I should just concede defeat and accept that we’re never going to agree on anything. We’re two different people, and he will never approve of me.”

“You told him about us though,” Porthos said without thinking.

“I refuse to be ashamed of it,” Athos retorted, then looked suspicious. “Hang on, how do you know what I told him?”

Porthos squirmed. “Ah, I just happened to bump into him as he was leaving, I was just passing through the foyer, you know?”

“Don’t lie to me Porthos, you’re very bad at it,” Athos interrupted quietly, and Porthos looked embarrassed.

“Okay, so I might have been lying in wait for him. I just wanted to see what he was like, I never expected him to know who I was.” Porthos made a face. “Are you mad at me?”

Athos took a swallow of whisky and shrugged. “Curiosity is a terrible thing. I’d probably had done the same,” he conceded, and Porthos relaxed.

“What did you think of him?” Athos asked cautiously.

“Honestly?” Porthos considered. “Sanctimonious little prick.”

Athos nearly spat whisky everywhere, and Porthos slapped him on the back as he choked.

“That’s my son you’re talking about,” Athos reproved when he could breathe again. “I’m the only one allowed to be rude about him round here.”

“Yeah. Sorry,” Porthos grinned, glad to see a spark of amusement back in Athos’ eyes.

“What did he say to give you that impression?” Athos asked curiously, realising that they could only have spoken for a couple of minutes at most, for Porthos to be here so soon after Raoul had left. “I mean, I thought it was just me.”

“I couldn’t put my finger on it at first,” Porthos said. “Then I realised. He claimed he was happy for you, but in the next breath told me something that was clearly designed to piss me off and make me angry with you.” 

Athos looked wary. “What did he tell you? I’m not going to guess, I’m sure he’s got a list.”

Porthos shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not important.” As he said the words he realised he meant it. Athos, here and now, was important to him, he didn’t need to know about his past.

“I’d rather know,” Athos said softly. “I’ll only worry what you’re thinking, otherwise.”

Porthos sighed. “He said - you weren’t an architect. That you designed missile installations for a living.”

Athos groaned. “I should never have told him that.”

“It’s not true?”

“No, it is, I meant that literally, I should never have told him. It was all covered by the Official Secrets Act. But when a son you never knew you had turns up out of the blue, you want to know everything about him. And you want him to know everything about you.” Athos gave a bitter laugh. “Most appalling decision I ever made in my life. Apparently, in some circles, working in the defence industry is morally abhorrent. Who knew?”

“He said he works for Greenpeace?” 

Athos snorted. “He _works_ for a merchant bank. He volunteers for Greenpeace in his spare time. Spends his downtime in a rubber dinghy punching whaling ships from what I can gather. I suspect it does more for his conscience than any actual whales, but each to their own.” 

He gave Porthos a sideways look. “The bank he works for invests in a number of Japanese companies, some of which in turn are investors in whaling technology. I pointed that out to him once, I thought he was going to punch me.” Athos looked inordinately pleased with himself and Porthos shook his head despairingly, trying not to laugh.

“How’d you find that out in the first place?”

“All on the internet,” Athos said dismissively. “Stock portfolios, investment histories, all a matter of public record.” He hesitated. “So, I suppose I should ask. How do you feel about it?”

“Whaling?” Porthos asked, confused.

“Me working in defence technologies,” Athos said quietly. “I lied to you, about what I did. I’m sorry for that. Force of habit.”

“I suppose you were still an architect of sorts,” Porthos said philosophically. “Technically you never told me you designed houses for a living.”

“Architect of death, Raoul called me once,” Athos said bleakly. “To hear him talk you’d think I had the blood of thousands on my hands. All I ever touched was a drawing board and a computer. All I ever wanted was to help keep people safe.” He sighed. “I don‘t know, maybe I‘m just fooling myself. Maybe I should feel guilty.”

Porthos came over and put his arms round him. “No,” he said firmly. “You shouldn’t. Look, why don’t we go to bed?”

“I don’t think I’m in the mood,” Athos said dolefully.

“We don’t have to do anything. Let’s just forget about the world outside for a bit. Bring your drink if you want.”

Athos looked up at him with an expression that was uncomfortably close to bewildered tears. “You really don’t mind?” he ventured. “About any of it?”

“How long has he been telling you you should?” Porthos asked, trying not to sound angry. Angry wasn’t going to help.

Athos looked away. “It’s my own fault. I shouldn’t let him get under my skin like this,” he muttered. 

“Athos.” Porthos waited until Athos met his eyes, then cupped his face between his hands and kissed him softly. Part of him wanted to tell Athos that he loved him, but at the last minute he held back, not certain enough that Athos would welcome it and not wanting to overload him with anything else right now.

Instead, Porthos just slipped his hand into Athos’ and lead him, unprotesting, into the bedroom.

\--

With the knowledge that Raoul was gone for another six months at least, Porthos was glad to see Athos regain his spirits somewhat. He still avoided Porthos’ attempts to draw him out enough to talk about it, but reassured him that he was fine, whilst looking vaguely embarrassed about the fact that Porthos had witnessed him that shaken.

Porthos’ birthday came and went, and Athos submitted to attending almost all of his party in the residential lounge, with only minimal growling when Aramis unwisely tried to get him to join in the party games. Athos’ prize for enduring the afternoon’s festivities was a photograph of Porthos, taken as revenge when he wasn’t looking, of him leaning back in an armchair roaring with laughter and wearing a silly hat. 

“It’s awful,” Porthos groaned the following morning, having woken up in Athos’ bed with a hangover and the lingering sensation of having eaten too much cake. “Take a nicer one.”

“No. I like it,” said Athos stubbornly, twitching the picture out of his reach. He’d persuaded Constance to print it off on decent paper in the office, and fully intended to frame it. “It’s very you.”

“I look demented.”

“As I say,” Athos murmured, with a twitch of the lips. Porthos gave him a v-sign, and he laughed, lifting a box of old pictures out of a cupboard, and sorting through them for a frame of a suitable size.

“Hey, it’s you.” Porthos had started looking through them as well, and had come across one of a much younger looking Athos standing next to another man on the enormous caterpillar tread of an earth moving machine. “I mean - I assume it is?” Suddenly wondering if it was Raoul. But looking again, he was sure it was Athos.

Athos leaned over his shoulder and grunted. “Yes, that’s me.” 

“Who‘s the other guy?” The second man looked younger than Athos, with long dark hair sticking out from under his hard hat, and a cheerful arm around Athos’ shoulders.

“D’Artagnan. He was my apprentice, for a while,” Athos said. “We worked together for several years.”

Porthos looked more closely at the picture. He suddenly noticed that Athos had his own arm discreetly around d’Artagnan’s waist, and while d’Artagnan was grinning for the camera, Athos in turn was only looking at him.

“Let me guess,” Porthos murmured. “He was Mr Seven Years?”

Athos looked startled, but didn’t deny it. “How the hell did you work that out?” he asked.

“You’ve got your arm round him. Besides, I’m guessing you didn’t look at all your employees like that. Or if you did, I wish you’d been my boss.”

Athos conceded a smile, taking the picture from him and looking at it a little wistfully. “Yes, alright. We were together for some time.”

“What happened?”

Athos shrugged. “We just drifted apart. Working in different corners of the globe, that sort of thing. We were both sleeping with other people, by the end. Finally both agreed it made sense to end it. We stayed friends. He still sends me a Christmas card. Well, he did.”

“Why’d he stop?” Porthos asked. Athos didn’t answer, but he suddenly guessed the reason.

“You didn’t tell him when you moved in here, did you?”

Athos looked shifty. “No.”

Porthos frowned. “Athos, you’ve got a lot of faults…”

“Oh, thanks.”

“…but I would never have said vanity was one of them.”

Athos sighed. “I couldn’t bear to tell him. He was twelve years younger than me. It just felt too depressing.”

Porthos covered Athos’ hand with his own. “You got his address still? Write to him. Tell him where you are,” he urged.

Athos raised an eyebrow. “Trying to hook me up with an old flame?”

“No. I just happen to think that a good friendship is worth hanging on to,” Porthos told him seriously, and Athos nodded heavily. 

“You’re right, of course.” 

Porthos grinned. “Bloody hell, can I have that in writing?” 

\--

The following afternoon Porthos was woken from a post-lunch doze by a rapid banging on his front door. Shuffling across to open it, Athos pushed inside and started pacing anxiously before Porthos had fully woken up.

“What’s eating you?” Porthos asked blearily, fumbling for his glasses.

“He’s coming.”

“Lucky old him.” Porthos yawned and sat down again, satisfied that there was nothing urgently wrong. “Who is? Coming where?”

“D’Artagnan,” Athos said impatiently. “Here.”

“That was quick. Here, sit down, you‘re making me feel tired.” 

“I emailed him,” Athos said, dropping into the chair next to him, but still jiggling his feet with a nervous energy. “I didn’t really expect anything, but he emailed me straight back. We spent most of last night talking. Turns out he only lives forty miles away.”

“Well that’s good,” Porthos smiled. “So when’s he coming?”

“At the weekend. Saturday.” Athos bit his lip. “Would you stay with me?”

“If you want,” Porthos said, surprised. “Moral support, like?”

Athos nodded sheepishly and Porthos grinned at him, more pleased than he was prepared to admit that Athos wanted him around. Not that he thought he had anything to be jealous of, but after Raoul he’d been prepared to be asked to make himself scarce again.

“It’ll be fine,” Porthos reassured him. 

“Yes.” Athos still looked worried. “It‘s just - it’s been nearly fifteen years since I saw him. I’ve changed a bit. More than a bit.”

“Well unless you’re intending to try and seduce him, what does it matter?” Porthos pointed out. “You’re not, are you?”

“Don’t be daft.”

“Well then. Anyway, he’ll have changed as well, bound to have. Probably got six kids and a paunch by now.”

“Two,” Athos admitted, relaxing a fraction.

“Two kids?” Porthos clarified. “Was he bi as well then?”

“No. He and his husband adopted.”

“Oh, right, yeah. I keep forgetting the world’s changed a bit since I was with Charon,” Porthos smiled. “Back then, nobody would even rent us a one-bedroom place together. We had to pretend we was flatmates.”

“What happened to him?” Athos asked, realising that while Porthos had told him a lot about his late wife, he hardly ever mentioned his earlier partner.

“He died,” Porthos admitted. “Pneumonia.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Athos reached over and squeezed his hand. Porthos gave him a grateful smile.

“It weren’t AIDS related,” he murmured. “In case you were wondering.”

Athos gave a non-committal shrug. “It crossed my mind,” he admitted.

“It was what most people assumed, at the time,” Porthos sighed. “But it wasn’t. He always had a weak chest. He was just unlucky.” 

He stared into space for a moment. “Alice picked up the pieces,” he said softly, then laughed. “Took me ages to convince her I was genuinely in love with her.” 

“Funny how things work out.”

“Ain’t it just.” Porthos looked over at Athos, and smiled. 

\--

“Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe I should have arranged to meet him in the pub. Maybe I should never have arranged to meet him at all.”

“Athos.” Porthos caught him by the shoulders and shook him lightly. “You’re going to wear a hole in that rug if you keep pacing like that. Just - take a few deep breaths or something.”

“I need a drink.”

“No you don’t.”

“How the fuck do you know?”

“Because this isn’t Raoul, Ath. This is someone who knows you probably better than I do. Someone who was so pleased to hear from you he spent all night talking to you, and someone who’s dropping whatever plans he’d made for this weekend to come and see you. You have nothing to be scared of.”

“I never said I was scared,” Athos objected stiffly. “I just want a drink, okay?”

“Want one? Maybe, okay. But you don’t need one. You‘re over-thinking things. Relax.”

“Easy for you to say,” Athos muttered, but Porthos noticed he made no move towards the decanter.

When the doorbell rang five minutes later, Athos jumped like a scalded cat then cleared his throat and looked embarrassed. 

“Want me to open it?” Porthos offered.

“Oh, fuck off,” Athos sighed, marching across to open it himself, ignoring Porthos’ smirk.

“Athos! Hello.” The man in the doorway looked as nervous as Athos did, and it was that more than anything that finally banished Athos’ own anxiety.

“D’Artagnan. It’s good to see you.” They embraced, and Porthos breathed a sigh of relief, looking d’Artagnan over with interest. He was slim and good looking, still with the dark hair he’d had in the picture, but flecked with grey and now cut respectably short. 

“This is Porthos,” Athos said, stepping aside. “My partner.” 

“Hello.” D’Artagnan held out his hand and Porthos shook it vigorously. 

“Pleased to meet you.” Glowing inside from being introduced as Athos’ boyfriend. They’d never really discussed the nature of their relationship, and while they’d come to lean on each other more and more, Porthos had never been quite certain how Athos saw it.

D’Artagnan was settled into a chair, and Porthos set about making tea for them all, beating Athos to it and forcing him to sit down as well. Fortunately the initial awkwardness seemed to have melted away and Athos and d’Artagnan were already deep in conversation. 

After the first pot of tea was drunk, Porthos got to his feet. “I’ll leave you two to get reacquainted,” he said, looking at Athos to make sure he was comfortable with him leaving.

Athos came with him to the door. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to?” he murmured. 

“This way you can reminisce in peace without having to worry about boring me,” Porthos smiled. Athos kissed him on the cheek. 

“Thank you,” he said. “For everything.”

\--

Porthos wandered off to the dining room to catch the last serving of lunch, and spent the afternoon pottering around at home. He assumed Athos would give him a shout when d’Artagnan left, but the hours trickled by with no word, and when Porthos made his way up to the main house for dinner that evening, there was still a strange car parked out front that he assumed was d’Artagnan’s.

“Hello you. No Athos this evening?” Aramis asked, as Porthos came over to join him.

“He’s got a visitor.”

“Not his son again?” Aramis asked, surprised.

“No, a friend. An old boyfriend, actually,” Porthos said with a smile.

“And you’re leaving them alone together?”

Porthos laughed, than realised Aramis was serious. “What? You think I should have chaperoned him? Athos is his own man, and anyway, I trust him.”

“Okay.” Aramis sounded dubious. “How long’s he been here?” 

“Since midday.”

Aramis raised his eyebrows and Porthos glared at him. “What? They’re old friends. They haven‘t seen each other for years, they‘ll have a lot to catch up on. Just because you‘d jump everything that crosses your path doesn‘t mean Athos would.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Aramis said in a placating tone that irritated Porthos more than ever. “You’re a very trusting man. It‘s admirable.”

“You think I’m naïve?” Porthos demanded.

“No. I didn’t say that. Did I say that?”

Fortunately the food arrived at that point and the conversation turned to other things. Porthos though remained unsettled, and made a point of peering through the windows into the now-dark carpark as he went home. D’Artagnan’s car was still there, and he had a horrid moment of wondering if he was somehow going to spend the night.

Porthos went home, telling himself stubbornly not to be an arse. His normal bed time came and went, and he realised he‘d been subconsciously waiting for Athos to call him. Now of course, it was questionable if he would, because he’d assume Porthos was in bed, whatever time d‘Artagnan left. If he left.

“Oh don’t be such a twat,” Porthos growled crossly, exasperated with his own fears, and at that moment there was a quiet knock on his door.

Pulling it open curiously, he was somehow still surprised to find it was Athos. He was leaning against the door jamb, and looked tired but happy. 

“Hello.” Athos smiled up at him, and Porthos couldn’t help smiling back.

“What time’d’you call this?” Porthos teased, letting him in and closing the door behind them.

“Yes, sorry. He’s only just gone.” Athos wound his arms around Porthos’ neck and kissed him. “Thank you,” he said seriously. “You were right, I should never have lost touch with him.”

“You clearly had a lot to talk about,” Porthos said neutrally. “Old times, eh?”

Athos nodded. “And all the times in between. Filling in the gaps.”

“As long as he wasn’t filling in your gap,” Porthos joked, but it sounded less funny out loud, and Athos gave him an odd look.

“You could have come round you know,” Athos said mildly. “Dropped back in again. If you’d wanted.” 

“Didn’t like to interrupt.”

“What did you think of him?”

Porthos nodded. “Yeah, he seemed nice. Pleasant. Good looking.”

Athos gave a huff of laughter and pulled Porthos back into his arms. “I should perhaps make it clearer,” he said quietly, “that my romantic involvement with d’Artagnan was over a long time before we ever lost touch with each other. Ancient history. We‘re friends, nothing more.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t,” Porthos said uncomfortably, but Athos just smiled.

“I know,” he said, and kissed him. “I just thought it might need to be said.”

Porthos wrapped his arms around Athos then and kissed him intently. “What you doing wandering about the corridors this time of night anyway?” Porthos scolded.

“I came up to see d’Artagnan off, then thought I’d come and see if your light was still on,” Athos said. “I didn’t want to wake you up if you’d gone to bed.”

“Well, now you’re here, I can,” Porthos smiled. “I assume you’re staying?”

Athos kissed him again. “No place I’d rather be.”

\--


	5. Chapter 5

Summer wound its way into a wet autumn, and for a while life was reasonably uneventful. As the weather got colder Athos and Porthos found themselves sharing a bed more often than not, alternating homes as the mood took them.

One dark night in November, Porthos woke in the small hours with a distinct feeling of discomfort. He shifted position, being careful not to wake Athos who was fast asleep beside him, but the uncomfortable sensations didn’t ease. 

Porthos sat up slightly, wishing he hadn’t eaten quite so much for dinner. Heart-burn and pins and needles was all he needed at this hour. 

He lay back against the head board, taking slow breaths and wondering if he was about to throw up, and whether he should move into the bathroom just in case. Several minutes ticked past, and rather than fading he realised the discomfort was getting worse. A horrible suspicion was dawning in his mind, and he wished Athos was awake, feeling the need for both company and a second opinion. 

Another few minutes and he couldn’t bear it any longer, switching on the lamp.

“Athos.” Porthos reached out and grasped his shoulder. “Athos?”

Athos blinked hazily awake, squinting in the light. “Mmn? What time is it?” he mumbled.

“Just gone two.”

Athos frowned, sitting up. “What’s wrong?” Porthos wasn’t given to waking him for no reason, and of the two of them it was Athos who suffered occasional bouts of insomnia. 

“It’s probably nothing.”

“Porthos?” Athos was wide awake now, sensing trouble. “What is it? Tell me,” he ordered.

“It’s just - I’ve got these pains,” Porthos admitted, and winced at the look of alarm on Athos’ face. “Not in me chest,” he said quickly. “Not exactly.”

“Where?” Athos asked crisply. 

“Down my arm. And - in my side. What are you doing?” Porthos looked up as Athos climbed hastily out of bed.

“I’m calling an ambulance,” Athos said, pulling his phone out of the jacket that was hanging off Porthos’ bedroom door. 

“It might be nothing,” Porthos protested, feeling silly.

“Then they’ll have a wasted trip. It was enough for you to wake me up, I‘m not taking any chances. Yes, hello?” Athos turned away, requesting the ambulance, outlining Porthos’ symptoms, age and medical history with a clear brevity that even through the wash of fear made Porthos smile with admiration.

When Athos was done he called the night porter and told them to expect the ambulance, and then started pulling his clothes on. 

“I should get dressed too,” Porthos muttered, and made to get out of bed.

“You stay exactly where you are,” Athos told him, pushing him back with a gentle hand. “Rest, okay?” He sat down on the side of the bed and drew Porthos into his arms. “It’ll be alright.”

Porthos clung to him gratefully, and Athos rubbed his back. 

“Is it getting any worse?” Athos asked quietly. “Tell me if it does.”

Porthos nodded. “It’s not like before,” he said, considering. “More like a really bad stitch.” He caught his breath and tensed, doubling over slightly and Athos went pale.

“Porthos?”

“I’m okay. I‘m okay.” Porthos sounded out of breath, and Athos realised he was sweating heavily.

“You really okay?” Athos asked, and Porthos gave him a tight smile, and shook his head. 

“I’m scared, Athos,” he whispered.

Athos held him tight and kissed him on the side of the head. “It’ll be okay. Probably just indigestion,” he said calmly. “We’ll get you checked out. Better safe than sorry.”

“Athos - ” 

“Shhh.” 

“No, I need to say this.” Porthos pulled back and looked at him, and Athos nodded. 

“Go on then.”

“I - ” Porthos swallowed, caught his breath. “I love you, Athos.”

“Porthos.” Athos looked shaken, not from the declaration, but from knowing Porthos was clearly saying this now in case he didn’t get another chance. He seized Porthos’ face between his hands and kissed him firmly on the mouth. “I love you too,” he whispered. “I love you, Porthos.”

Porthos gave a shaking sigh, and leaned into his arms, resting his head on Athos’ shoulder. “Sorry,” he said.

“Daft bastard,” Athos told him, rocking him gently, and Porthos gave a quiet laugh. 

“I should have told you before.”

“You think I didn’t know?” Athos kissed him again. “Now shut up and save your strength.”

To Athos’ relief the ambulance arrived promptly, along with Constance who seemed to be wearing a coat and walking boots over pyjamas. 

“Fashion statement?” Athos murmured, as they stood back watching the paramedics checking Porthos over.

“Shut up,” she said good naturedly. “There’s a standing instruction to wake me if any of the residents are taken ill over night.” 

“So you get first pickings?” Athos asked, and she laughed, guessing how worried he was, and how much in need of a distraction. 

“That’s right. Light-fingered Constance they call me. You can have a job as my fence if you like.”

“Can we steal you some better pyjamas?”

Constance looked down. “What’s wrong with ducks?” she asked indignantly, but Athos was no longer listening, as one of the ambulance crew had gone out to fetch the stretcher.

“You’re taking him in?” Athos asked, heart sinking. He’d been holding out hope it really had been a false alarm.

“We think it was a mild heart attack,” said the remaining paramedic, who’d introduced herself as Jenny. “The immediate danger should be over, but there is a small risk of further ones, we need to take him in to run some tests.”

Athos pushed past and sank down onto the bed, reaching for Porthos’ hand. He felt cold, and Athos rubbed his fingers briskly. 

“Drama queen,” he murmured, and Porthos managed a weak smile.

“Don’t leave me?” he said in a small voice, and Athos shook his head.

“Not for a second,” he promised. 

True to his word, Athos followed them all out to the ambulance, and promptly climbed inside.

“Sir - you can’t - ”

“I won’t interfere, and I won’t get in the way,” Athos said firmly. “But I’m coming with him.”

Rather than waste time and sensing he would keep his word and not be trouble, they let him stay and Athos watched in anxious silence as they attended to Porthos and then slammed the doors. 

He held Porthos’ hand all the way to the hospital, and then in various cubicles until he was wheeled off into the depths of the diagnostic department for a scan, and Athos was finally forced to stay behind. 

A miserable hour passed, and Athos was wishing he’d thought to bring either a book, a cushion or his wallet - preferably all three - when someone sat down next to him holding two plastic cups of thin coffee.

Athos accepted one in silence, and looked the newcomer up and down.

“What happened to the ducks?” he said finally.

Constance snorted. “You didn’t like them. So I got dressed.” 

“Maybe you’d have better luck with Aramis.”

“He hasn’t got a duck fetish has he?”

“I imagine he’d soon develop one if it helped.” 

Constance giggled into her coffee, then looked sideways at him. “You okay?”

“ _I’m_ fine,” Athos retorted. “I’m not the one lying on a trolley with people sticking god knows what into me, am I?” He sighed. “Here, you’re a nurse. Have you got any clout round here? Can you find out what’s happening?”

“I can try.” Constance handed him her cup and walked over to the desk. Athos was encouraged by the fact that after a short conversation the ward clerk made a couple of calls and told Constance something that he couldn’t catch.

“They’re taking him through to the cardiac unit,” Constance told him, reclaiming her coffee. “She’s going to let me know when we can see him.”

Athos let out a shaky sigh. “Thank you,” he said. “They seem very reluctant to disclose any information to non-relations. Or maybe it’s just old men they don‘t like.”

Constance nudged him. “Or maybe she just fancied me more’n you,” she said. “You don’t know. Maybe I offered to show her me ducks.”

\--

Almost another hour passed before the clerk received a phone call and waved them over. One set of baffling instructions later, Athos found himself following Constance through a maze of corridors, considerably grateful for her presence.

“Did you really remember all that?” he demanded, as they arrived at the correct department without getting lost once.

Constance looked at him innocently, then grinned. “Okay, so I might have trained here. I know the layout.”

“Thank fuck for that,” Athos muttered. “I thought I was losing it.”

They were finally let in by a nurse who warned them to be quiet as the other patients were all asleep, and let them over to a curtained bay in the corner of the room. 

Porthos was hooked up to various machines and looked grey and drained, but he was awake and smiled when he saw Athos step through the curtain. 

“Hey.” Athos lowered himself into the single chair next to the bed, and took Porthos’ hand. “How you doing?” 

“Been better.” Porthos summoned a rueful grin. “They said it was definitely another heart attack. Mild one this time, but still. Thanks, for - you know. I’d probably have been too embarrassed to call an ambulance until it was too late.”

“Don’t even think that,” Athos said crossly, and squeezed his fingers. Porthos patted his hand, trailing tubing. 

“They reckon I’ll be alright though,” Porthos said comfortingly. “Might only have to stay in a day or so this time.”

Athos nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The worry of the preceding hours was catching up with him now it seemed the danger was over, and he felt dangerously near to tears.

Porthos felt the trembling in Athos’ hands, and caught Constance’s eye over Athos’ shoulder. “Take him home,” he mouthed, and she nodded.

“Come on Athos,” she murmured, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Let Porthos get some rest. We can come back tomorrow. Well, later today I suppose.”

Athos refused to let go of Porthos’ hand. “I promised I wouldn’t leave you,” he whispered.

Porthos leaned in and kissed him. “I’m safe now,” he murmured. “Thanks to you. Go home and get some sleep sweetheart. I’ll still be here when you come back. I promise.”

Athos looked up at him, pinching together lips that were threatening to tremble. “I love you,” he said hoarsely.

“I love you too. So much.” Porthos kissed him on the forehead and smiled. 

\--

Constance drove Athos home through the empty pre-dawn streets. He was silent, staring blankly out of the window as the town turned into countryside, and it was only when she caught a muffled sniff that Constance realised he was crying.

For a while Constance said nothing, knowing that Athos would hate that she’d noticed, but then she sensed him discreetly and unsuccessfully hunting through his pockets. 

“There’s tissues in the glove box,” she said quietly. Athos froze, then sighed, fishing one out and blowing his nose.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” 

Another mile went by in silence. 

“You okay?” Constance asked, as they drove up the main street of the village.

“Yeah.” Athos fell quiet again, until they were climbing the final hill towards home.

“What the hell am I doing, Constance?”

She looked across at him, but couldn’t make out his expression in the dark. “How’d you mean?”

“Falling in love at my age. What the fuck was I thinking?” Athos said bitterly. 

“He’ll be alright.”

“For how long?”

“Probably outlive both of us.”

Athos gave a breathy sigh. “I don’t think he’d want to outlive anyone else.”

“Oh you’re a bundle of laughs tonight, you are,” Constance said reprovingly, knowing that Athos invariably responded better to briskness than sympathy. To her relief, he gave a short laugh.

“Sorry.”

“You’re tired, and you’re worried,” she said. “Things’ll look better in the morning.”

“Yes. I’m sure you’re right.” He sounded less than convinced. 

Constance parked up and they went indoors, but as Athos was heading back towards Wren Walk he pulled up and gave her a look. 

“Unless I’m very much mistaken, your apartment’s upstairs,” he sighed. “Why are you following me?”

“I was just going to see you to your door,” Constance admitted. “And talking of which, you’re going the wrong way.”

“I’m fine, Constance. I just need to tidy up. Get the place ready for him to come home,” Athos said. 

“Get some sleep, if you can,” she told him. “Visiting hours start at ten. I’ll pick you up at half nine, yeah? Take you in.”

“Thank you.” Athos rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Thank you.”

Constance nodded. “Sleep. That’s an order.”

“Yes nurse.” Athos smiled at her, and waited until he was sure she’d gone back to bed herself before wearily walking the rest of the way back to Porthos’ bungalow. He had Porthos’ keys, and let himself in, staring round helplessly at the tumbled bedclothes and all the lights still on. 

He hunted through the kitchen cupboards until he found the bottle of whisky Porthos kept for him, and poured himself a respectable measure - not too much, in case he needed to be awake and alert at short notice, but enough to take the edge off.

Athos undressed slowly and turned the lights off, crawling back into bed and screwing his eyes shut. He’d slept alone, by preference, for most of his life, and thought it was ridiculous how quickly he’d got used to sharing a bed with Porthos. He missed his presence, his warmth, his company. 

Athos pictured him lying alone in the hospital, and buried his head under the pillow in a futile attempt to shut out his own thoughts.

\--

Athos was subdued the next morning on the drive in, only half paying attention to Constance's deliberately cheerful conversation until she mentioned that she'd spoke to Porthos' niece on the phone before coming out.

Athos raised his head and stared at her. "Why?

"Why?" Constance made a face at him. "She's his next of kin, Athos."

"But he's going to be fine."

"Yes, and? I still had to tell her," Constance retorted. 

"Don't see why." 

Constance rolled her eyes. "You know Athos, some people actually get on with their families?"

Athos grunted. "I suppose."

"Anyway, she was very grateful for me phoning, and she's coming to see him."

"Not today?" Athos asked quickly, and Constance sighed.

"What, are you the only one allowed to visit him now? Shall I get him a badge, 'property of Athos de la Fere'?" 

"Oh piss off."

"Stop being daft then." Constance pulled up on double yellows outside the hospital and nodded at him. "Go on. I need to get some things in town, I'll pick you up in a couple of hours." Athos looked downcast and she sighed. "I'll bring you in again this evening if you want."

Athos immediately looked guilty. "Sorry. I'm being a bother."

"Not like you to apologise for that," Constance teased gently.

"Some people don't deserve to be buggered about," Athos told her. "You're one of them."

"I am flattered. Go on, piss off before they ticket me. And if and when I decide I'm being buggered about, I'll let you know."

Athos finally raised a smile, and nodded. 

Inside, he managed to find the right ward with only one wrong turn and was relieved to find Porthos where he'd left him.

"Hello you." Athos slid into the seat it felt like he'd only left minutes before, and took Porthos' hand. "How you feeling this morning?"

"Bit rough," Porthos admitted. "The pain's gone, but I didn't get a lot of sleep." He looked round circumspectly, then said in a lower voice, "About an hour after you left last night, chap down the end there turned up his toes and died."

"Oh, no. I'm sorry." 

"Yeah, well, they try and keep it all discreet with curtains and such, but you know what's going on, don't you?" Porthos muttered. He laid his other hand on top of Athos', clasping it between both of his. "Promise me I'm getting out of here Athos?"

"Well of course you are!" Athos felt awful that Porthos should be in such low spirits. "You told me that, yesterday. You said you were fine." Unless - an awful thought occurred to him. "You've not had bad news?"

To his relief, Porthos shook his head. "Nah. They took me down for another scan before breakfast, but nobody's got out the coffin tape yet." Athos frowned at him, and Porthos managed a smirk. "What? I'm allowed to be morbid if I want." He sighed. "Sorry. Guess I'm just a bit down. You alright?"

Athos nodded silently. His dreams had been troubled and his sleep patchy, but it sounded like he'd had a better rest of the night than Porthos. 

"Constance spoke to your niece," he said. "She's coming to see you apparently." Hoping as he said it that it hadn't been meant as a surprise, but pleased that it put a smile on Porthos' face.

"That'll be nice. I've not seen her since - " Porthos' expression clouded again. "Well. Last time."

Athos squeezed his hand. "She'd probably come more often if you asked. You don't need to resort to such drastic measures," he said lightly. 

"Yeah." Porthos sighed. "She's got her own life though, you know?"

"What about the other one? Wasn't there a nephew as well?"

"David? Yeah, but he lives quite a distance away. Sends me pictures of the kids though." Porthos looked wistful, and Athos wished he knew what to say. Porthos had confided before that he and Alice would have liked children, but that somehow it had never happened.

"I've got a son going spare, if you want one," Athos said finally, deadpan. "Hardly used, if not terribly functional."

Porthos gave a croaky laugh. "No thanks, I've met him." 

Athos smiled back at him, glad to have cheered him up at least a little. "Can I get you anything?" He'd brought in a bag of Porthos' things with him, a clean pair of pyjamas, his toiletries, a towel and a set of clothes. 

"Newspaper'd be nice. Dull as fuck in here. Am I allowed chocolate? Breakfast weren't up to much."

"I'll check with the nurse," Athos told him and made to get up, but Porthos hung onto his hand.

"Don't go," he said. "Bring 'em next time."

Athos nodded, resuming his seat and patting Porthos' hand. "I brought your phone, as well," he said. "If you think of anything else you want, just text me. If you're allowed to use it in here?"

"Yeah, everyone else has got one," Porthos confirmed. "Thanks, Athos. For everything. Sorry about all this."

"Shhh." Athos lifted Porthos' hand to his lips and kissed his fingers. "You just get better and come home, okay?"

\--

True to her word, Constance brought Athos in again that night for the evening visiting slot, and once more the following morning. She was relieved to find that Athos was now in a better mood, having been told that Porthos could probably come home the following day.

"If I'm ever taken ill," Athos mused as they waited in traffic on the ring road. "Does that mean you'd have to phone Raoul?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"I don't think I've even got his phone number," Athos frowned. 

"I have," Constance told him. "It was part of the paperwork when you moved in. Assuming it's still the same, anyway. You're supposed to let us know if your next-of-kin's contact details change."

Athos snorted. "Like he'd tell me." He looked sideways at Constance. "If you have to phone him, then I now fully intend to die in the most embarrassing manner possible."

"You're all heart," Constance grinned. "If you die with something stuck up your arse I'm leaving you out for the binman."

Athos was still laughing when he walked onto the ward, only to draw up short at seeing a woman he didn't recognise sitting in the seat next to Porthos' bed.

She got to her feet as he approached, with a smile of polite enquiry. "Hello, who's this, somebody else come to visit you?"

Athos glanced down at Porthos, waiting to be introduced, only to find he looked temporarily tongue tied.

"Hello. I'm Athos. You must be Shelley."

"That's right, has he told you about me? It's nice of people to come down and visit him like this. I was afraid he'd be lonely." 

Athos hesitated. It was becoming painfully clear that Porthos certainly hadn't told her about him, and from the look on his face was clearly expecting Athos to either drop him right in it, or be furious. Instead he just nodded. "We've got a rota."

Porthos gave him a look that was full of gratitude and shame.

\--

"I'm sorry," Porthos blurted that evening, before Athos had even sat down. 

"What for?" Athos asked mildly, resuming the visitor's chair with a sense of relief that Shelley had apparently gone home again.

"You know what for." Porthos hung his head. "I should have told her. I will tell her."

"You don't have to," Athos told him, and reached out to clasp his hand. "It's not important."

"It is important!" Porthos looked wretched. "You're important. I should have told them before."

Athos pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I'm guessing Shelley's Alice's side of the family?"

Porthos nodded. "Her sister's kid. Both of them are. It's just - gonna come as a shock, you know? All they've ever known was me married to Alice. To find out I'm suddenly with anyone else is going to be weird enough, but another man, that's - " Porthos broke off again, looking guilty. "It shouldn't matter, should it?"

Athos leaned forward, trying to catch his eye. "Porthos, I don't care who knows, and who doesn't know. I would never ask you to out yourself if you didn't want to, you know that. And I don't want you to worry about it, okay? I don't want you worrying about anything right now."

"You deserve better." Porthos finally met his gaze, looking shamefaced. 

"I deserve you fit and well and happy," Athos told him. "I don't care about anything else."

"You told Raoul," Porthos persisted. "Even when you knew he wouldn't approve."

"Probably why I told him," Athos countered. "I always was a contrary bastard." 

Porthos managed a smile, and Athos winked at him. "You're coming home tomorrow," Athos said. "Let's concentrate on that, yeah? Worry about stuff that doesn't matter later, when you're feeling stronger."

"Okay." Porthos gave in, with a shuddering sigh. "You're right. I just want to be home. With you."

Athos shifted up to sit on the side of the bed and took Porthos into his arms. "Soon," he promised. "You just hang in there, eh?" 

\--

The following day was long and trying, full of last minute cancellations, contradictory information and excruciatingly long waits for medication to be dispensed, but finally Porthos was released from hospital just as it was getting dark. 

Athos had stayed with him all day, the initial discharge estimate having been ten in the morning, and as Constance herded them to the car, they were both yawning.

"Look at you," she scolded. "Right pair you make. You're both to go straight to bed when you get in, do you hear?"

"Is she encouraging us to fornicate?" Porthos asked, in a jubilant mood now he was finally out.

"It did sound like it," Athos drawled from the back seat. "The question is, are you allowed to? I imagine you're not supposed to exert yourself too much."

"I'll just have to make you do all the work," Porthos grinned, looking sideways at Constance who knew perfectly well they were doing it to wind her up and was pretending she couldn't hear.

"No change there then."

"Oi!" Porthos settled back in the seat and sighed contentedly. He was going home, and that was all that mattered.

\--

"I did ask, you know," Porthos murmured once they were finally alone together in his own comfortable and familiar surroundings. "About sex."

"I don't think you can get that on the National Health," Athos said seriously, and Porthos snorted and punched him on the arm. 

"I meant about whether I was allowed to do it. They gave me this great long list of do's and don'ts, but it didn't mention that. Guess they figured I was past it. Should have seen their faces when I asked. Must have thought I was a dirty old man."

"You are," murmured Athos, slipping his arms around Porthos' waist. "It's something that makes me very happy. More importantly, what was the answer? Do I have to keep my hands off you?"

Porthos shook his head. "No violent exertion, they said," he smirked. "But apparently 'gentle sexual intercourse' is fine."

"Good to know." Athos kissed him then, softly, on the lips, and it deepened into something warmer. 

"Well. I guess we should do as we're told and go to bed then," Porthos said slowly, with a smile. 

\--

For the next few days they took things steady. Porthos' new medication was making him feel queasy, particularly first thing in the morning, and after three days of this he accused Athos of knocking him up.

Athos patted him on the belly and told him smugly it looked nearly due, at which point Porthos chased him round the dining room until an irate Constance told them off.

"Are you trying to bring on another attack?" she demanded of a shame-faced Athos.

He was quiet for some time after that, until Porthos snuggled up to him on the sofa and whispered wicked things in his ear until he started smiling again.

"I'm not an invalid," Porthos told him, resting his head on Athos' shoulder. "And I like that you don't treat me like one. Don't let Constance get to you."

"She's right though," Athos admitted. "I was encouraging you to over-do it."

"I don't want to live in cotton wool," Porthos protested. "I'm fine. I'm supposed to exercise, anyway."

"Gently," Athos reminded him. "I don't think chasing me round the room declaring you were going to spank me was on your list of approved exercises, was it?"

Porthos smiled. "Should have been," he said wistfully. "Would have been if I'd written it."

After lunch, they were walking through the reception area when Constance came out of a room at the back and called to them. "Porthos, do you have a minute?"

"Yes, of course." He smiled at her, but she was unusually straight-faced, and he exchanged a look with Athos. Something was clearly up, but she wouldn't divulge what it was, and when Athos tried to follow she held up a hand.

"Just Porthos. Sorry."

Athos looked perplexed and now rather anxious, but Porthos put a hand on his shoulder and told him not to worry. "Probably just my library fines," he grinned. "Go home, I'll catch up with you in a bit."

Athos did as he was told but he couldn't help fretting, and when Porthos walked in half an hour later looking ashen he jumped to his feet in alarm. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Porthos lowered himself into a chair before replying, as if he didn't quite know what to say.

"It was a meeting of the management committee," he said finally. "They think - they think that I might not be suited to living here any longer."

"You what?" Athos hissed, and Porthos winced, knotting his fingers together. 

"They said because of my medical issues this year, and because the doctors said I should have round the clock supervision for a bit - that it contravenes the terms of the housing agreement, and I should consider looking for somewhere more suitable."

Athos was incandescent. "Are they still there? In the meeting?" Porthos nodded, and Athos strode over to the door.

"Athos! Don't make a scene?" Porthos pleaded. "We'll work something out."

"Scene? I'm going to wipe the fucking floor with them."

Athos stormed up to the main building and into the office behind reception without so much as a cursory knock. Seated around the table were Constance, Elise the manager of the housekeeping staff, and Louis and Anne Bourbon, who both owned and ran the residential estate.

Everyone looked up in surprise when Athos burst in, although when they saw who it was Constance put her head in her hands and Louis rolled his eyes.

"Oh, no, do come in," he said sarcastically. "No need to knock."

"What's all this bollocks about you throwing Porthos out?" Athos demanded.

Anne looked chagrined. "Nobody's throwing anyone anywhere Athos. But Porthos has been here less than a year and already been hospitalised twice. We simply believe he would be better suited to a higher level of care than we are set up to provide for him here."

"But bottom line, you're chucking us out?" Athos declared.

"I don't think anybody has suggested asking you to leave," Louis frowned. "Although the thought is getting more tempting by the minute."

"You can't believe that I wouldn't go with him?" Athos retorted.

"Athos, what we're suggesting is that Porthos needs round the clock care," Anne said quietly. "Such as a nursing home." 

Athos went pale. "You can't be serious. That would kill him. He'd hate it."

"He needs - "

"He needs twenty four hour assistance available, for a matter of weeks," Athos interrupted. "Not specifically medical care. I was there, remember, I know exactly what they told him, and what was in his discharge recommendations. Well I can provide that. I'll move in with him. Full time."

"You can't," said Louis flatly. "The units you both live in are singles, for fire and insurance purposes. We can't allow you to co-habit in one."

"But I spend most nights with him as it is?" Athos protested, confused.

"A fact we have been turning a blind eye to," Louis countered. "We're not a police state, technically you're free to do as you like - as long as you're maintaining your own properties here. But you can't move into one together permanently."

"Then let us have one of the double units," Athos suggested, grasping for solutions. "There's at least one empty on the south wing, has been for months. We'll take that one."

"You can't," repeated Louis, with some satisfaction. "They're for married couples only."

"That's discrimination."

"No it isn't, it's a simple fact, it's how they're laid down in the property agreements," Louis told him. "Married couples only." 

Out of options Athos fell quiet, casting around for another argument. "You support this?" he asked Constance, feeling betrayed. He'd thought of all people she'd be on their side.

Constance looked ashamed, but she met his eyes without flinching. "It's not about making trouble for anyone Athos," she said quietly. "It's about seeing Porthos gets the care he needs. You of all people must want that for him?"

"Well yes, of course I do." Athos faltered. "But you're going the wrong way about it."

Still angry, he made his way back to Porthos' bungalow and had to pause for a second outside to get his breath back and muster his thoughts. 

To his surprise after a moment the door opened anyway and Porthos looked out, raising his eyebrows to find Athos leaning against the corridor wall.

"Thought I could hear panting," he said. "I thought the postman had branched out into dirty phonecalls for a minute."

Athos walked in, looking sheepish.

"I gather it didn't go well?" Porthos sighed, studying his expression. "Never mind. Thank you for trying."

Athos shook his head. "There is a potential solution," he said. "It's just - well, you might think it's a bit drastic."

Porthos looked enquiring. "Well go on then, don't keep me in suspense." 

Athos took a deep breath. 

"We might - need to get married."

\--


	6. Chapter 6

Porthos just stared at him, and after a couple of seconds of tension Athos cracked and started babbling about how it was the only way to secure one of the double units and allow him to become Porthos' designated carer.

"Athos. Athos," Porthos interrupted eventually, a bemused but wary smile spreading across his face. "Are you seriously asking me to marry you?"

"Isn't that what I just said?" Athos retorted stiffly. Porthos shook his head.

"No. No, forget about the house, forget about the medical care. Athos, are you asking me to marry you?" he repeated, slowly and deliberately.

Athos stared at him for a long moment, paralysed with tension. "Yes," he breathed. "I mean, you don't have to," he added quickly, "it's probably a stupid idea - "

He was cut off by Porthos kissing him firmly on the mouth. "Yes," said Porthos, cupping Athos' face between his hands.

"Yes?" Athos whispered, and Porthos nodded.

"Yes. I'll marry you, Athos. So long as it's really what you want, and not just for some stupid housing solution?"

Athos nodded, and Porthos relaxed a fraction. "Good." He smiled. "You know, I had considered asking you myself," Porthos admitted. "I just figured you'd say no."

"I probably would have," Athos confessed. "I'm stupid like that."

Porthos laughed, and then Athos laughed, and then somehow they were clinging to each other.

"We should go back and tell them," Athos said after a while, when there'd been kissing, more hugging and a certain amount of emotional tearfulness that neither would ever refer to later.

"There's someone else we have to tell first though," Porthos told him. 

"Who?" Athos asked, puzzled.

"Aramis. Can you imagine, if we had gossip of this level and didn't tell him first? He'd never forgive us."

Athos laughed. "I see your point. Alright, come on then, let's go and find him. I suppose it will at least save us the trouble of telling anyone else."

\--

They ran Aramis to ground in the conservatory, lounging in a wicker chair between two potted palms and dozing behind a pair of sunglasses.

"Shake a leg," Porthos declared, plonking down next to him and slapping Aramis on the knee. 

Aramis pushed up his sunglasses and frowned at them. "To what to I owe this honour?" he enquired suspiciously. "Aren't you two normally canoodling in the library at this hour?"

"We've got some news," Porthos grinned. "Figured you might as well hear it first."

"Oh really? Do tell." Aramis sat up, all ears.

Porthos glanced up at Athos, who nodded for him to continue. "We're getting married."

Aramis looked astonished. "Seriously?" 

"Yeah." 

"To each other?"

"Of course to each other you pillock," Porthos spluttered, then caught Aramis' grin. "Idiot."

"You're very easy to wind up, do you know that?" Aramis laughed. "Congratulations. Both of you." He hugged them both and they hugged back, relieved that the news had met with such a positive reaction. 

"Am I allowed to tell people?" Aramis asked, and it was Porthos' turn to laugh.

"Yeah. Course. Tell who you like. Um," he bit his lip. "Actually, I was wondering if you'd maybe like to be my best man?"

Aramis gaped at him, then beamed. "I'd be delighted. Honoured. Thank you."

Porthos nodded, then looked guiltily at Athos, remembering that Athos had known him longer. "Unless - you were going to ask him?" 

Athos shook his head. "You're alright. I'll probably ask Constance to give me away," he smiled. "Assuming she's given up trying to evict you by then, anyway."

"Evict you?" Aramis looked from one to the other, confused. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Long story," Porthos growled. "Come on, let's catch them while they're probably still all together."

Reaching the deserted reception foyer however, it was Porthos who pulled back for a second. 

"Athos - if they say no to the house - "

"Then we'll find somewhere else willing to take us," Athos finished for him. "This isn't the only retirement village in the country. It's not even the only one in the county. I'm not letting them put you in a nursing home."

Porthos relaxed a little. "You will still want to marry me then?" he checked.

Athos stopped, and turned back to him. "Yes," he said quietly. "And you were right, to make me stop and think about it. But yes. I love you, Porthos. I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

"Good." Porthos drew him closer, and Athos wrapped his arms around him with a smile that went right up to his eyes. 

They were still standing there kissing each other when the meeting broke up and everyone filed out of the office behind them.

"Oh God, what's this, performance art?" Louis' petulant drawl cut through the moment like sandpaper, but they still didn't pull away from each other. "Do you really have to? Right where visitors come in?"

"Yes, I'm afraid we do," said Athos calmly, without taking his eyes from Porthos. "We're celebrating. You see, we've just got engaged."

"Engaged?" That stopped Louis in his tracks. "You can't do that. Can they do that?" He turned to his wife indignantly.

"I think you'll find they can," Anne confirmed, trying not to laugh. "Like you said, it's not a police state."

"Ugh." Louis threw up his hands, but it was annoyance at being thwarted rather than revulsion towards the couple. "Oh, very well."

"Then we can have the double unit?" Athos asked, finally turning to look at him.

"I suppose so." Louis folded his arms, looking grumpy. "It's proved a bastard to shift, so you may as well."

"Thank you. I mean that," Athos said seriously, and held out his hand. After another second's huffing, Louis shook it.

He marched off, his wife in tow, but Constance hung back to speak to them.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I know you must feel that I let you down in there."

"You were just doing your job," Athos said. "I understand that."

"And it's all turned out alright in the end, hasn't it?" Porthos said cheerfully, his arm still possessively around Athos' waist.

"Yes. Yes it has." Constance gave them a watery smile, and Porthos pulled her into a threeway hug. 

"Cheer up girl. Just think, you get to be Athos' best man now. Well, woman."

"I do?" She looked bewildered, and Athos smiled.

"If you'd do me the honour? Aramis is giving Porthos away."

"Well - I'd love to." Constance hesitated. "Shouldn't it really be Raoul though?"

"I'd rather it was someone I was reasonably certain would turn up," Athos said mildly. 

Constance looked sympathetic, but nodded quiet acceptance of his assessment.

"You gonna invite him?" Porthos asked as they walked slowly home, hand in hand.

"Suppose I ought," Athos conceded. "Still don't think he'll come though." He looked sideways at Porthos. "You going to invite the rellies?"

Porthos nodded. "Yep. Good time for me to tell them the truth, eh?"

"Do you think they'll mind?"

Porthos shrugged. "Find out, won't I?" 

Athos looked up and down the corridor to make sure they were alone, and pulled him into a doorway. "I love you," he murmured.

"And I love you. And that's all that matters," Porthos nodded. "Now shut up and kiss me, it's been at least five minutes."

\-- 

"Huh." Athos dropped the letter he'd just opened down on the table in disgust and poured himself another cup of tea instead. Sitting across from him, Porthos reached out for it, looking enquiringly at Athos to make sure he was allowed to read it. Athos shrugged, and he picked it up.

"Oh."

"Told you he wouldn't come." Athos pushed back his seat and went to busy himself making a fresh pot.

Porthos came up behind him and slipped his arms round his waist. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Course." Athos felt stiff in his arms though, and Porthos nuzzled a kiss into his neck. "I mean, I knew he wouldn't," Athos continued, despite the fact Porthos hadn't said anything. "I suppose at least I can be smug that I was right."

"You must have hoped a tiny bit though?"

"He'd only have spent the whole thing disapproving of everyone," Athos muttered. "Probably better this way."

"Is his mother still alive?" Porthos ventured. Athos was resolutely tight-lipped when it came to anything to do with his son.

"No. From what he told me, she only agreed to tell him how to find me when she found out she was dying," Athos said heavily, turning in Porthos' arms to face him. 

"So not the best of introductions then?" Porthos guessed. "He was probably already angry and hurting from that."

"And then to discover I was everything he disapproved of in life you mean?" Athos said dryly. "Poor boy." He sighed. "No, we did try, at first. But we're just too dissimilar, I think. Or too alike, maybe. Too unforgiving. Still. They do say you can't choose your family."

"I'm choosing this bit of it," Porthos smiled, and kissed him. 

"Talking of which, have your told your lot yet?" Athos asked, slyly changing the subject. Porthos immediately looked guilty. 

"Not yet. I've been putting it off." He sighed. "I'll invite 'em both over I think. Probably best done face to face."

\--

In the end it was only Shelley who was able to drive over at short notice, and Porthos welcomed her in and settled her with tea and cake, fussing nervously round her until she stopped him.

"You said you had something important to tell me?" Shelley prompted, having finally managed to get Porthos to sit down. "Is anything wrong?"

"No. Oh, no, nothing like that," Porthos said hastily, realising that his cryptic message had probably worried her. "No, it's just - well. I'm getting married again, you see."

"Married?" She stared at him, perplexed. "I hope some young gold-digger's not got her claws into you," she said finally. "It's not that nurse is it?"

Porthos nearly spat out a mouthful of cake. "No. No, definitely not a gold-digger," he smiled. "He's older than me, for a start."

Shelley frowned, thinking she'd heard wrong. "He?"

"He," Porthos confirmed. "It's a man, Shel. I'm marrying a man." 

"Is this a wind up?" Shelley asked dubiously.

"No. Swear to God. You've met him, actually. Athos. Guy who came to see me in hospital?"

"Oh." Shelley processed this for a moment, and then looked up. "Were you seeing him then?"

"Yeah."

"Whyever didn't you say? Making the poor man sit there like a lemon."

Porthos smiled, relaxing slightly. "I wasn't sure how you'd take it to be honest."

"Well, it's none of my business what you do," Shelley said hesitantly. "Although I'm not sure what Auntie Alice would have made of it all."

"She'd have been happy for me," Porthos said firmly, and Shelley shrugged. 

"Well. You knew her best I suppose. Isn't all this a bit sudden though?" Clearly wondering if his heart attack had sent him a bit peculiar.

"No. Actually. It's not," Porthos said quietly. "I've always - well. Liked both."

She looked sideways at him. "Kept that quiet."

"Yeah. Model of discretion me. Alice knew, though."

"Oh." Shelley pushed cake crumbs around her plate. "Does my brother know?"

"Not yet. I was going to tell you both together, but he couldn't get time off to drive down." Porthos looked shifty. "Would you tell him for me?"

Shelley snorted. "I suppose so." 

"And you'll come to the wedding? It's in January. Twenty second. Here in the village."

"In the church?" Shelley looked surprised.

"No, in the hall. It's a registered venue."

She snorted, but still looked hesitant. "What am I supposed to tell the children?" she asked finally.

Porthos held her gaze. "Tell them their great uncle Porthos is getting to marry someone he loves very much," he said simply. "And that he's a very lucky man."

\--

The following month felt like it passed in a flash. Louis having finally and publically agreed to the property switch, Anne pushed the paperwork through at speed and let them start moving things in even before it was finalised. She pointed out that this would enable Louis to advertise the two singles again a lot more quickly, and he didn't interfere.

The new bungalow was very pleasant, south-facing with a large double bedroom and a separate small dining room. They fitted this out as a library-come-study for Athos, that he'd be able to retreat into when Porthos was watching, in his words, "all that muck you like on telly."

Furnishing it kept them occupied, choosing which pieces from each of their homes to keep, and which to relinquish. Several pieces were carried to and fro as they tried them out and then decided they didn't fit, to the exasperation of all those helping with the heavy lifting. Eventually though they were satisfied, and moved in a week before the wedding, mostly so they could feel they'd got one over on Louis, if technically only for a few days.

"We're living in sin," Porthos pointed out with a grin, the night they moved in.

"I know. Fun, isn't it?" Athos smiled, curled next to him in the bed. It was brand new, both men having decided they wanted one thing that belonged to them and only them.

"We should break in the mattress," Porthos continued, sliding a hand inside Athos' pyjamas. "Make sure it's got enough bounce."

"Sure you don't want to wait for your wedding night?" Athos teased, already reacting to the encouraging motions of Porthos' hand.

Porthos grinned, and pounced on him. 

"I'd rather get some practise in."

\--

"Nervous?" 

Athos turned from where he'd been staring out of the french windows and realised Porthos had been watching him from the bedroom doorway.

"No."

Porthos grinned. "Liar." He came over slowly, admiring the view. They were both dressed in immaculate black morning suits, Porthos sporting a crimson waistcoat and handkerchief, and Athos the same in dark gold. They'd made the decision to go down to the ceremony together.

Athos sighed. "Fine. I'm terrified. Happy?"

Porthos took his hand. "It'll be great."

"It's alright for you, you've done this before."

"And I never thought I'd be doing it again." Porthos smiled at him. "No second thoughts?"

Athos shook his head. "None. I want this. I don't think I realised how much." 

"Good." Porthos kissed him softly. There was a discreet knock and the door, and they looked at each other. "That'll be the car."

"Better not keep everybody waiting then," Athos said. "It'll only give Aramis too much time to try flirting with the women he hasn't met before."

\--

The hall was packed, and both men were slightly startled to see how many people had turned out for them. As well as nearly all the residents and staff of the retirement home, there was Porthos' niece and nephew and both their families, d'Artagnan and his family, and even the barmaid and landlady from the pub. 

As it turned out, Shelley's hesitation over explaining things to her children had been groundless, both girls seizing on the one important fact in the whole thing, that if there was a wedding then they were certain to be asked to be bridesmaids. Shelley hadn't been entirely sure how that would work when there wasn't technically a bride, but Porthos had been more than happy to indulge them, and so he and Athos were trailed up the aisle by two beaming little girls in matching shades of gold and red satin. 

David's two sons were of a self-conscious age where they'd declined the offer to be part of the procession, declaring with a supreme lack of irony that being a page boy was well gay, but they were both there in the congregation. 

Everyone later agreed the ceremony was lovely and also mercifully brief, so that the whole party was back up the hill for the reception in the dining room in just over an hour.

Mingling with the guests, Porthos realised he hadn't seen Athos for some time, and eventually found him lurking half-hidden by a curtain in the ante-room. He was staring out of the window again, this time fidgeting with his new wedding ring.

"Wondered where you'd got to," Porthos grinned, sneaking up behind him. "What is this, spring-watch? You counting blue tits or something?"

Athos half-smiled. "All a bit much," he admitted. "I don't really like being the centre of attention."

Belatedly, Porthos remembered how much Athos hated parties, and winced. He'd been pleased at the time, that Athos had left all the arrangements for the reception to him, and had agreed to all his suggestions without argument, and it only now occurred to him that actually Athos might be hating every minute of it.

"Sorry," he said, suddenly downcast.

"Whatever for?" Athos frowned at Porthos' worried expression. 

"I never thought. You should have said. We could have eloped or something."

Athos gave a surprised laugh. "You love all this," he said. "I was watching you in there, you're in your element. Besides, the girls would never have forgiven you if you'd denied them the chance to be bridesmaids."

"True." Porthos smiled at him. "We can always sneak off if you want?" 

Athos shook his head. "It's your day as much as mine. You enjoy it. You're not getting too tired are you?" 

"Don't you worry about me," Porthos declared. "I'm currently running on champagne and cake."

"That's what worries me. Don't over-do it, will you?"

Porthos took his hand. "Trust me, I'm fine. I'm not going to run the risk of sabotaging me own wedding night, am I?"

"No violent exertion, remember?" Athos smirked. 

Porthos kissed him. "Gotcha. Slow and steady it is then."

\--

The party was winding down and those staying off site had already gone, when Athos and Porthos made their rather sleepy way home. Porthos was by now yawning after every sentence, and Athos felt he'd had enough social interaction to last him all year, so he'd finally suggested they head off.

"So how's it feel to be married?" Porthos smiled, as Athos let them in the front door.

Athos considered. "Nice," he announced.

"Well, that's a relief, eh?" Porthos pinched him on the arse, and wandered through into the bedroom, sitting down to take off his shoes with a groan of relief.

Athos went into the bathroom, and although he kept up a conversation with Porthos through the door, he couldn't help feeling that Porthos' answers were all rather vague and distracted. When Athos' last comment got no response at all, he came through into the bedroom, half-expecting Porthos to have fallen asleep. 

Instead, Porthos was sitting on the side of the bed, staring at something in his hand. When Athos came in he jumped, not having heard him, and tried hurriedly to stuff it into a pocket. Haste made him clumsy and he missed, the small object bouncing off the bedframe to land on the carpet at Athos' feet.

Athos bent to pick it up. It was a ring, and one he recognised at once. He'd seen Porthos wearing it every day, after all.

"Oh Porthos," he murmured, sitting down beside him and putting the ring gently back into his hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't think." He put an arm around his shoulders, and Porthos leaned into him gratefully.

"She wouldn't even mind, you know?" Porthos said, blinking back tears. "That's the stupid thing. She'd understand." He looked down at his left hand, splaying the fingers to show off the new ring Athos had slipped onto his finger that very morning. The ring that had replaced the one now clutched in his other hand.

"Come here." Athos reached over and coaxed the ring out of his hand. 

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I shouldn't even be - " Porthos mumbled, but Athos hushed him.

"Shhh. It's okay." He lifted Porthos' right hand and worked the original ring carefully onto his third finger. "There. How's that? Bit tight on that one, but we could probably get it fixed."

Porthos blinked at him, eyelashes glistening. "You wouldn't mind?"

"Why would I?" Athos took both Porthos' hands in his. "I love you. And you love me. But you also still love Alice, and that's okay. I promise."

"Athos." Porthos whispered it, overcome and half-shaking, and Athos pulled him into his arms. 

"It's okay," Athos told him, holding him tight. "It's okay."

They held each other for a long time, until finally Porthos pulled back. He looked better, and Athos smiled at him. "I love you," he said quietly. 

"I love you too." Porthos took a deep breath, and steadied himself, nodding slowly. "And you know what?" He drew Athos down the bed and kissed him. "Now I'm going to show you exactly how much." 

\--


End file.
